Insignificant Other
by msmerlin13
Summary: Tired of dealing with the hassle of dating, Harry and Hermione naively decide to turn to one another to fulfill some of their more carnal desires. With a set of carefully selected rules, they vow to not let something as simple as shagging impact their friendship. Fortunately, neither of the Gryffindor's had ever been keen on playing by the rules.
1. Chapter 1

Written for Harmony & Co.'s Harmony at the Movies fest.

Prompt: Friends with Benefits (2011)

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter.

* * *

Her lips moved along silently with the words that Mr. Darcy spoke. She had rented the movie what felt like a thousand times before Harry finally bought it for her, and since that day it kept permanent residence in her DVD player. She was nearly certain she would wear it out by the amount of times she'd played it, but he assured her that it wasn't like the VHS tapes she owned as a child.

'_You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love…I love…I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on'_

With a heavy sigh, she leaned back further into the couch, clutching her nearly empty bottle of butterbeer against her chest as she smiled.

"Merlin, this is such a load of shit." Harry's voice cut over the movie as he reached into the bowl of popcorn that was nestled between them to grab a handful. "They hated each other this entire bloody movie, and suddenly he loves her."

Hermione couldn't contain her eyeroll as she brought her bottle to her lips for a quick sip. "They did not spend the entire movie hating one another."

"Are you sure?" Harry said through a mouthful of popcorn.

"First off, you know I am. Secondly, you've seen this bloody movie before! More than once. Why are you just now bringing this up?" Hermione questioned as she pulled the popcorn bowl from his reach and set it in her lap triumphantly.

"Do you actually think I've paid attention the other times you put it on?" Harry questioned with a playful smirk. Scooting closer to her until their shoulders touched, he grabbed another handful of popcorn. "I only agreed to this crap—" He gestured to her telly. "—because you were sore after we left the bar."

"Oh gods, seriously?" Hermione snorted, her eyes rolling back once again at the mention of their gathering earlier at the Leaky with Ron and Ginny. "I wasn't sore."

Harry purposefully moved his eyes to examine the beer bottle in his lap, his thumbnail digging to the sodden label on the front. "Riiight."

"Oh, fine! I was sore," Hermione admitted. "But did you hear the way _your_ ex-girlfriend said it?" Clearing her throat, Hermione did a dramatic flip of her hair, tossing her curls over her shoulder in her best Ginny impersonation. "_You honestly still read Witch Weekly? It's clearly written by dunderheads. Last week they published an article about the two of you dating. Ha! Could you even imagine someone thinking that possible?"_ She repeated Ginny's words from earlier that evening, her voice uplifted in mockery.

Harry tried to hide his smile in the neck of his beer bottle, but when Hermione did another sweep of her hair, his head fell back on the couch as he let loose a full belly laugh. "Can you please do that in front of her? I would pay good money to see her reaction."

"Absolutely not," Hermione laughed, bringing her bottle to her lips, and she took another small sip before she leaned back into the couch, crossing her arms over her bust. "I just don't understand what's so unbelievable about it. I'm an eligible witch. Is it really so hard to believe that someone might be interested in me?"

"I don't think it's that you're not attractive or eligible, but rather that it would be me who was courting you," Harry pointed out, tipping his bottle between the two of them to punctuate his words.

"What? You don't think I'm fit?" Hermione questioned, cocking a brow at him skeptically. Sure, they had been friends for over half their lives by now, and she highly doubted he had ever so much as thought about her in that manner, but even he had to admit she wasn't unattractive, right? She worked out, ate well, washed her face every bloody night. She was far from the type of witch to use beauty spells, but she did care about her appearance.

Harry looked over to Hermione, his brows nearly disappearing under his untidy black fringe. Merlin's bollocks, did she really just ask him if he thought she was fit? "I'm not answering that," he said quickly, lifting his bottle to his lips to drain the last of his beer. It wasn't that he didn't find her attractive. Of course, he thought she was fit! He _was_ a twenty-six year old man after all. But fuck if he was going to admit it.

"Harry!" Hermione's frown deepened.

"Just ignore her, 'Mione." Harry leaned forward, setting his empty beer bottle on the table before he leaned back to settle into the couch, his hands folding over his stomach as he kicked up his feet to rest on her coffee table.

While she knew she could force him to answer if she really pressed, she figured his reluctance might be for the best. "Well it's rather hard you know," she began, picking out a couple pieces of popcorn from the bowl in her lap and she popped them into her mouth between words. "Flaming red hair, big mouth. I'm really starting to think it must be a family trait for every Weasley to be as ostentatious as possible."

Harry snorted, because while she was obviously just voicing her frustration, she was absolutely bloody correct. Even Percy, who was inarguably the most mild-mannered of the bunch, certainly made his presence known everywhere he went. It had to be a combination of the Weasley trademark blazing red hair and the family's inability to keep their mouths shut. "Speaking of dating…" Harry let his voice trail off as he cocked a brow at Hermione.

Hermione groaned, her head falling back on the couch as her eyes fluttered closed in an overly-dramatic display. "Ugh…don't even get me started."

"What? Dick wasn't all that you'd hoped for?" Harry questioned, his lips pulling up in a teasing smile.

"_Richard_–" Hermione corrected with a sharp look. He knew damn well what his name was, but took pleasure in the childish humor of the double entendre of her latest flame's name. "– was fine. If you're into the sort of man who lives with mummy and still has his lunch packed for him."

"Are you taking the mickey?" Harry questioned with a lift of his brows, his tone ticking up in disbelief.

Hermione nodded with an exasperated sigh. "I wish I were. He actually tried to bring her on our third date. I declined—obviously." Reaching up she pressed two fingers against her temple, applying pressure to the spot as she took another deep breath. "I don't bloody understand when dating became such a chore"

"At twenty-five," Harry supplied matter-of-factly as he lifted a hand to ruffle through his hair. "That's when people start expecting you to settle down. The pressure does crazy things to people–especially women."

"Right, because you men are just _so_ easy to deal with." She shook her head. "I can literally count on one hand the number of dates I went on and thought 'hey, he's not trying to just shag me.'"

"And you'd be wrong," Harry mumbled.

"I'm serious, _Harry_." Hermione turned to face her friend, pressing her back against the arm of the couch before dropping her feet in his lap. "Is it too much to ask for true love? I just want to find a wizard who still believes in romance. Who will…I don't know, bring me flowers just because. And who will read poetry–although at this point I'd take him just bloody reading a book on occasion. I want someone who makes me feel like I'm the centre of his universe. Not because I'm famous, but because he loves me."

"Uh…yes. Because true love doesn't bloody exist," Harry laughed. "You watch these crap movies and expect all men to be like Mr Darmy–"

"Darcy."

"Darcy—whatever his bloody name is doesn't matter, because he's not _real_. You have expectations for finding a romantic, handsome, nice bloke to marry who is also good in bed, and believes in saving the bloody planet. I hate to break it to you, but you literally cannot have all five traits in a single person. It's physically impossible," Harry explained, glancing down at her feet that nudged his stomach impatiently.

With a sigh, he reached down and wrapped his hand around one of her feet, knowing she was requesting one of his foot rubs. He didn't understand why she insisted on wearing bloody heels to work when she quite literally ran between the fourth and seventh floors all day long. Obliging, mainly because he didn't want to hear her whine, he dragged his thumbs across the arch of her foot. "If you actually think any of those blokes cared about romance, then you're more gullible than I remember."

Hermione's eyes fluttered closed as he continued to rub, earning him small noises of approval that did awfully strange things to his libido. "And if you think I am not fully aware that they all want sex, then you must think me an idiot. Of course they want sex. I am simply saying that not _all_ men are stupid enough to lead with trying to get me into their beds and might—just maybe-have a genuine interest in getting to know me."

"But, if presented with the opportunity, all of those men would bed you on the first date," Harry pointed out.

"Well, no shit," she quickly replied, pulling her foot from his grasp and she wiggled the one he had not touched closer to his hands. "But would it kill men to at least act like they care about more than what's inside my knickers?"

"Let's not pretend like sometimes a good shag isn't precisely what you're looking for though," Harry teased as his thumbs worked down to the heel of her foot, applying pressure just below her tendon.

"Ahh, right there." Hermione sighed before cracking open one eye to look at him. "And no, I will not deny that a good shag doesn't make dealing with all the crap worth it. Actually, if it wasn't for missing sex, I think I'd rather just be single the rest of my life."

"Wouldn't it be nice if you could just shag someone without the added complications?" Harry mused as he rubbed his thumb one final time down the length of her foot before folding his hands on top of her ankles.

"That would be nearly impossible for us at this point." Hermione lifted her arms above her head as she leaned back over the arch of the couch, slowly stretching back until she could feel her spine pop.

"But why not?" Harry's eyes drifted to her breasts unintentionally, watching the way her hardened nipples strained against her camisole as she stretched, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip briefly. Just as she began to return to a normal position on the couch, he quickly averted his gaze. "It doesn't have to be complicated. It's just a physical act. Like…Quidditch."

"Quidditch?" Hermione lifted a brow at him, her hands tugging down the hemline of her shirt where it had ridden up.

"Yes, Quidditch. A sport. You suit up, you play hard, and leave the field after performing. Simple. No thought put into it. No pressure. Just in and out. Besides, no one wants to go away for the weekend after they play Quidditch. Or asks you to meet their parents," Harry explained. "It's just a game, you know? You shake hands and get on with your life. No big gestures."

Hermione tilted her head to the side, her lips pursing in thought as she pondered his analogy. While she would not have chosen Quidditch as her example—considering it's a team sport—she understood what he meant. When sex was brought into the mix it definitely complicated things. For men it typically meant emotions, and commitment, whereas for her, it meant trying not to end up another notch one some arsehole's bed post. "Yeah. It would be kind of nice."

Harry nodded in agreement, his hands moving from his lap and he threaded his fingers behind his head. "If only…"

Hermione remained silent, letting her mind wander with the possibilities of finding someone she could relieve her frustrations with, without the added bullshite of actually dating them. While it sounded perfect, she knew it was never going to happen. Swinging her legs from Harry's lap, she planted her feet firmly on the floor before rising from the couch.

"Want another?" she questioned as she picked up her beer bottle, giving it a small wave in his direction.

"Sure." Harry leaned forward, snagging the remote to her telly off the coffee table and began to fiddle with the input to change it away from her DVD player. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as she began to pick up their empty beer bottles from the floor, bending over at the waist in his direction like she had a thousand times before. Under normal circumstances he would not have even given her a second glance, but now—after their conversation, and the eyeful he'd gotten of her pert breasts, he couldn't help but admire her shapely backside.

She had a heart-shaped arse. Lean thighs and surprising long legs for her short stature. His cock stirred beneath his jersey shorts as unintentional musings of what it would feel like to have them wrapped around his hips fluttered into his mind.

He watched as she stood up, her bare feet padding across the room towards her tiny kitchen and it was then the idea floated into his mind. It was madness… She'd never agree… but damn it if wasn't brilliant!

"Mione?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's play Quidditch," Harry blurted out, turning on the couch until he was leaning over the back of it to track her movements. The truth was, Hermione was fit. And he trusted her. Not only in the 'with my life' sense, but also in the 'won't run to the press and talk about the size of my cock' sense.

They were both single with no future prospects on the horizon. There really was nothing to say they shouldn't _play quidditch_ with one another.

"What?" Hermione looked over her shoulder, her brow knitting.

"Let's shag like we're playing Quidditch," Harry clarified.

Hermione couldn't stop the laugh that tumbled from her lips as she dropped the empty beer bottles in her recycle bin. "Shut the hell up, Harry."

"No, I'm being serious." Harry crawled over the back of the couch, moving to sit with one leg straddled over each side as he watched her. "Don't laugh. This could actually work! This–" he gestured between them. "—could take all the weirdness out of it. It would be like a transaction. No romance, no emotions. No complications. Just like Quidditch."

"Harry, I don't like you like that," Hermione said as she pulled two bottles from her refrigerator. Setting the cold butterbeers on the counter, she waved her hand across the top, muttering a soft charm to remove the metal caps.

"And I don't like you like that either, which is why it's brilliant!" Harry insisted. "It will just be physical. A means to an end, if you will. You won't have to deal with the dreadful dates to get a bit of relief—if you know what I mean."

"You mean _you_ won't have to deal with dreadful dates. I don't mind a free meal every now and then," Hermione corrected as she picked up their beers and moved toward him, holding out his beer for him to take. "Regardless of how brilliant you think this plan is, I don't even know if I find you attractive."

Harry let out a snort, his lips already wrapped around the bottle. "That's cute," he said as he lowered his beverage. "I'm bloody charming and you know it."

"Well, I do have a thing for emotionally stunted wizards," Hermione teased as she claimed her seat on the couch once again, tucking her feet under herself as she curled up against the arm. "Well, for this to work you would have to find me attractive."

"And?"

"So you do?"

Harry swung his leg back over the couch, falling back into the spot he had previously occupied. "I mean… sure. We've known each other since we were eleven, so it's a bit different than just saying you're fit."

"See!" Hermione tipped her beer toward him in her exclamation. "You don't,therefore this great plan of yours won't work."

Harry sighed, his hand going up to twist the unruly hair on the back of his head into tips. "Okay, look. Speaking strictly physical. Take out the fifteen years of friendship," Harry paused to take another breath, using the moment to caught her gaze. "Yes. You're very attractive."

Hermione didn't say a word; instead she narrowed her eyes skeptically. Lifting her beer to her lips she took another slow sip, as if waiting for him to blurt out that this was all one giant joke, but when nothing came and the reality that Harry was actually proposing they shag took hold, well - she would have to lying if she didn't think the idea half bad. It made perfect sense for people in their position. She could only imagine dating as The-Boy-Who-Lived could not be easy, especially since dating with her reputation was damn near impossible.

"What do you find attractive?" she finally asked, her tongue darting out to lick her lips.

Harry smirked, his hand sliding down to rest on his neck as he cocked his head to the side, letting his eyes run down her body to rest on her chest as he ran his tongue across his bottom lip. "Uh, well… Your breasts," he said, dragging his attention back up to her eyes.

"Really?" Hermione's voice lifted in surprised as she looked down to her own chest before back up to him. "I've always thought they were too big."

"Merlin no," Harry laughed, his cheeks crimsoning. "What about me? What do you find attractive?"

Her lips pursed in thought as she looked at him. She had spent so long not thinking about him in this manner that she'd never considered the possibility of finding him handsome. Sure, she could admit Harry was a handsome bloke, but she said it in the same sense one might about their cousin, or friend's boyfriend. It was never meant with any intent. "Your eyes are quite nice."

Harry snorted, wincing as he leaned back against the couch cushions. "Ouch. I just confess I find your breasts appealing and you go for my eyes."

"What? They're lovely!" Hermione defended with a laugh. "Okay fine, you've got a nice bum."

Harry nearly choked on his butterbeer, coughing as he set it on the arm of the couch, his hand going to cover his mouth. "M-My bum?"

Hermione could feel her cheeks crimson as she reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose. Godric's gonads, this was way harder than it should have been. "You can't ask why! Just accept my answer."

Harry nodded, his hands lifting in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. I won't ask," Harry conceded. "I like your eyes too… for a point of reference. Always found them beautiful."

Hermione peaked over at him through her fingers, slowly dropping her hand to her lap. "I like your lips. They're very kissable."

"Your legs," Harry said a bit quicker than he likely should have, but fuck it, they were going all in at this point, right?

Hermione bit her bottom lip, looking down to her thighs as she suppressed a growing smile. "Your chest."

"Butt."

"Voice."

"Your eyes."

"You've already said that," Hermione pointed out as she looked back up to him.

Harry nodded, taking a large drink from his beer before replying. "I meant it."

They sat in silence for what felt like ages, just staring at one another, letting the tension linger between them. For the first time in her entire friendship with Harry she was seeing him through a lens that felt foreign. He wasn't just her best friend. He was suddenly a man, and one that she was allowing herself to feel attraction for. If they were going to do this—this shagging without feelings thing he proposed-they needed rules.

She wasn't willing to risk losing her best friend over something as stupid as sex. No, that would be inadvisable.

Pushing up off the couch, Hermione set her half drank beer on the coffee table before moving across the room to her rolltop tucked in the corner.

"Uh…what are you doing 'Moine?" Harry questioned, his eyes tracking her across the room. When she began back towards him with a parchment, and a self-inking quill, his brows rose. "I just told you we should shag, not write a bloody paper."

Hermione waved off his question, sticking out her tongue at him as she moved to settle on her knees in front of her coffee table. "I'm not writing a paper, idiot. I'm making rules."

"W-what?" Harry stammered, scooching forward on the couch so he could lean down and peer over her shoulder.

"You heard me. Rules. If we're going to do this, we will need rules." Hermione said pragmatically, her pen already scribbly across the parchment.

_No Kissing_

"Kissing is too intimate. This isn't about emotions, right?" Hermione clarified as she looked over her shoulder toward Harry.

"Makes sense to me," Harry agreed before shifting off the couch to move onto the floor beside her. "No one can know. If any of our friends found out it would complicate things. And this is supposed to be easy, right?"

"Right," Hermione agreed, her quill moving across the parchment quickly.

_No One Knows_

"No sleepovers?" Hermione suggested

"But I sleep over now," Harry said, his brows knitting.

"Staying the night because you drank too much is different than sleeping in my bed, Harry." Hermione reached out, pressing the feathered end of the quill against his chest playfully. "This rule just ensures I don't have to pick up after you anymore, so it's really a win-win for me."

"Alright whatever," Harry sighed, batting at the quill. "As long as you add in No Cuddling."

"Sounds fine to me, but I still get foot rubs," Hermione said as her quill quickly moved across the page to add the latest additions.

_No Sleepovers_

_No Cuddling_

"No Romance. I don't have to wine and dine you. This is just shagging," Harry said quickly, tapping the paper.

"You're a cheap date anyways. I expect more than the greasy spoon you take your dates to," Hermione teased.

"I do it to weed out the witches who are only after my gold, not my company!" Harry said reaching out to nudge her. "Besides, Kendall's has a great pastrami sandwich."

"With the amount of butter they put on everything, it's a wonder you can taste anything else," Hermione said as she added his request to the list.

_No Romance._

She pulled her hand back, looking down the list, her teeth chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip as she mulled over that could be added. While it hit the main points of protecting their friendship, she knew they could take a little more precaution. "What about No Expectations?"

"What do you mean?" Harry questioned, his head cocking to the side. Expectations? His only expectation was that she was willing to shag him! And while it was only one, even he could admit it was already asking a lot.

"I just mean like… I'm not going to turn down going on a date just because we're doing this. There should be no expectations as to when I go to your place, or you come to mine. If I'm busy, I'm busy, and you can't get mad," Hermione explained, twisting her quill thoughtfully between her fingers.

"But you're never busy," Harry pointed out.

"Merlin, I'm just using it as an example," Hermione sighed.

Harry shrugged, taking another large sip from his bottle of butterbeer. "Alright fine, add it if you must."

_No Expectations_

"But since you brought it up, maybe it would be better if we didn't discuss our dates with each other anymore. At least not until it's serious," Harry suggested, tapping his index finger beneath the line she'd just added.

Hermione's quill was already adding the new rule, but she couldn't help but wonder. "So we're okay to date while we're doing this?"

"Well yeah," Harry replied. "I mean, it's just Quidditch right? I mean, I'd prefer you not have a game with anyone else while we're playing—"

"I wouldn't! What kind of witch do you think I am?" Hermione interrupted, looking up to her friend, her brows risen.

"I think you're an attractive woman who likely has lots of offers on the table she ignores," Harry replied honesty. He couldn't help but notice the slight blush his praise gave her, and while under normal circumstances he might find it cute, now it was rather sexy. His mind wandered, wondering just how far down he could make her blush reach given the right set of circumstances. His teeth sunk into the inside of his bottom lip, holding back a lascivious smirk that threatened to give away his thoughts.

Clearing her throat, Hermione averted her gaze back down to the paper, nodding her head. "Okay. Makes sense. So no bringing it up until it's serious."

_No asking about the other person__'__s dates_

"And since we'll be going on dates, perhaps we ought to include a no jealousy rule? It's just sex, therefore no reason to get jealous," Hermione suggested, not even bothering to wait for a response before she began to add the eighth entry to their growing list of rules.

Harry nodded, sipping on his beer as he watched her script blossom across the parchment. That rule would, in his humble opinion, be the easiest to follow. This was strictly physical. When she finally met someone, he would happily step aside. After all, she was his best friend! He wanted nothing but her happiness… and well, maybe now to get her undressed as quickly as bloody possible. "Agreed. Just sex."

_No Jealousy_

Hermione tapped her quill on the top of the parchment as she cocked her head in thought, her eyes drifting towards the ceiling as thoughts of what else they could possibly need swirled in her mind. How extensive was this supposed to be? Did she want it to outline detail? That would be rather long considering Harry was not just some boy she knew, but rather her best friend since childhood. Things she would add if this agreement were with anyone else didn't exactly work for the two of them, as their lives were already too intertwined.

"No dates," Harry said, pulling her from her reverie.

"Huh?" Hermione glanced over to Harry, her brow knit.

"No dates," Harry repeated, reaching out to pluck the quill from her hand, and he slid the parchment in front of him, his hand poised, ready to make the addition.

"Wait!" Hermione reached out, wrapping her hand around his wrist. "What the hell do you mean by 'No dates'? We don't go on bloody dates now."

Harry laughed at her panicked interruption. Of course she would want it perfect. "But we go out just the two of us often, right? Dinner, to the cinema, and whatnot. We really shouldn't do that anymore."

"But what if it's with our friends? Does that count as a date?" Hermione slowly released her grip on his wrist. "Because I am not going to not go out with our friends just because you happen to be there."

"I mean… is it like a double date situation? We're meeting Ron's latest fling, or catching up with Neville and Hannah?" Harry lifted a brow.

"I don't think either of those should count. If you look back to rule number two, none of them will know. It will be odd if we suddenly stop declining to be around each other in social settings. Beyond that, you still owe me several drinks from our ongoing pool regarding Ron's ill-fated romances. There's no bloody way I am not cashing in on those." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest.

"Are you really more concerned about free drinks than establishing boundaries for this?" Harry laughed, reaching up to adjust his thick-framed glasses on his nose.

"Yes! Those were hard-earned victories!" Hermione replied.

"You literally just had to guess how long his relationship would last!" Harry returned.

"Uh, yeah. And I got it right. Six times in a row, I would like to add," Hermione said matter-of-factly. She wasn't about to let Harry try to weasel out of paying out his wager. Every darn time she lost he made damn sure she paid up; she was only returning the favor.

"I feel like you had an unfair advantage, seeing as you dated him." Harry shook his head, turning his attention back to the parchment, and he began to write the next rule, with her additional caveat, of course.

_No going out together—outside of group of friends_

"Six months is hardly enough time to afford me an insight," Hermione snorted.

"But you slept with him," Harry pointed out as he dotted his entry.

"Oh Merlin, are you still going to bring that up? Feel free to go bed Ronald. By all means, level the playing field." Hermione sighed with a wave of her hand, leaning back on the couch as she shifted her weight.

"Ew, no," Harry said, scrunching up his nose as he tossed the quill onto the coffee table. "I'm just saying that you absolutely had an advantage. You know how his brain works."

"No more than I know how yours works." Hermione picked up the list, her eyes scanning the nine bullet points curiously. "We need one more."

Harry leaned in to look over her shoulder. "Why? It's perfect," he said before reaching out to pluck the parchment from her fingertips. "This covers everything."

"Because it's an uneven number." Hermione pushed up off the ground, slowly rolling her ankles to rid them of the stiffness that came with sitting cross-legged on the floor.

Harry rolled his eyes, picking up the quill once more. "Right, because that would be absolutely travisty," he murmured as he quickly began to make the last addition.

"Wanting things to end on even number isn't odd, Harry. It's logical and loads of people feel the same," Hermione replied quickly before sticking out her tongue at him. She picked up her butterbeer, drinking what remained in her bottle.

Harry dotted the last line with a flourish before holding it up towards her. "Ten. Happy?"

_No Falling in love._

"Do you really think that's necessary?" Hermione questioned, her nose wrinkling.

"You wanted ten!" Harry said with a exasperated sigh, and he slammed the parchment back down on the coffee table, picking up his quill, prepared to strike it out.

"Don't. It's fine! I just think it's a little presumptuous," Hermione said as she reached out, pulling the quill from his fingertips quickly.

"For who?" Harry pushed himself up from the floor, stretching his spine as he rose to his full height. "I know how you women get. Your biological clock gets to ticking and suddenly… boom. Heart eyes."

"Oh sod off." Hermione picked up the parchment, pursing her lips as she looked over the list. She moved slowly across her living room to her roll top, where she pulled out the top drawer and set the parchment inside.

Harry picked up his butterbeer, taking a lazy sip as he watched her walk, his eyes dropping once more to watch the sway of her hips, allowing himself to appreciate her womanly curves for the first time. It wasn't until he saw a flash of bared skin at her waist did he drag his eyes up in time to watch her pull her camisole over her head.

"What are you doing?" Harry blurted out quickly, his eyes running over her back, examining the crisscross of her bra across her shoulder blades.

"Undressing." Hermione didn't even bother to look over to him as she began towards her hallway, letting her top hit the floor on her path towards her bedroom. Her hands moved to her shorts, unlacing the string at her waist before she let them fall to her feet, leaving her in nothing but her bra and black cotton knickers.

Harry stood frozen, his eyes glued to her backside as he watched her walk away from him. Sweet Merlin. He'd seen her in a bathing suit before, but the cut on her bottoms never went quiet that high. Gulping down his momentary stupor, he quickly pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the couch. "So we're doing this?"

"Well, yeah," Hermione said as she glanced over her shoulder. "We just made the rules right?"

"Right," Harry agreed as he tugged down his jersey shorts, leaving him in a pair of fitted blue boxer-briefs. He looked down, his hand adjusting his half-hard cock before he glanced up, a small smirk falling into place when he noticed her eyes had followed the movement of his hand. "So… the couch?" Harry questioned, cocking his head to the side. "It's less intimate."

Hermione pulled her eyes up from his boxers. Her mouth was dry, and she pressed her thighs together. Despite her efforts to play this cool, she couldn't help but feel a small tempo increase in her heartbeat. "I don't want to get a kink in my back. Besides, the lighting is much better in my bedroom," she explained. "Since this is just about shagging, I don't have to worry about hiding my scars."

"Oh… right," Harry said, his forehead wrinkling. She worried about her scars? Merlin, she was bloody gorgeous. Why she thought she had anything to hide was beyond him. Even without shagging, he would have told her that. But now, well, he couldn't very well calm those fears without breaking some of the rules they established. "The bedroom it is."

Hermione turned back around, facing Harry as he began across the room towards her. She could feel her hands tremble and her stomach flutter as he moved closer. It was now or never right? They agreed to this… and he was her friend. She had nothing to hide. Taking a deep breath to gather the remaining courage she needed, her hands rose to the thin zipper that held her sports bra closed and she lowered it quickly. With a shrug of her shoulders, it fell unassisted to her feet.

Any sort of hesitation he had felt instantly vanished. His eyes ran across her exposed breasts, taking in the way they rested against her ribs, the dark pink nipples that were damn near inviting him to taste them. His pulse quickened, and he immediately felt a rush of blood that went straight to his cock. Sweet merciful Merlin, it had been far too long since he'd gotten any.

Hermione watched as his feet slowed until he stopped just an arm's reach from her, his eyes roving her body, leaving a heated trail across her skin. She fought the urge to wrap her arms around her middle and hide the blemishes, but she knew it would be in vain. Harry knew every bloody scar she held, for he was there earning his own beside her. Taking a step back, her bare feet padded on her wooden floor as she moved down the hallway towards her bedroom, feeling a new burst of confidence when she caught that way his eyes dilated as he looked her over. "You coming or not?" she teased before turning her back to him, and she began down towards her room, purposefully swaying her hips a bit more than necessary.


	2. Chapter 2

She was naked.

She was completely fucking naked and Harry was fairly certain he forgot how to breathe.

"So, are you going to…" Her voice trailed off as she gestured to his boxers which were very clearly tenting. "Or what?"

Harry looked down at his waist before up to Hermione once more, his eyes forgoing finding her face and instead staying glued to what he was positive was the most exquisite pair of tits he'd ever seen in his life.

Shit, he wanted his best friend.

Yes, that was the bloody point of this arrangement, but fuck it all if it didn't sink in until he saw her topless.

"Oh, uh…Yeah," Harry said after she cleared her throat to gather his attention and his hands moved to his waist. Hooking his fingers into the elastic band of his pants, he shimmied them over his hips where they pooled at his feet; he made no move to cover his fully erect cock.

Hermione gulped, audibly, when _he_ came into view. Harry was well endowed. She'd heard the rumors—how could she not? Ginny was her friend after all, but it certainly did not prepare her for actually seeing it.

"Yep," she squeaked, clearing her throat once again nervously. "I can work with that."

Harry's smile turned from sheepish to arrogant in a split second, his cock bouncing as he purposefully tightened the muscle that ran through his prick, earning a small laugh from the witch who stood across from him. "So, how are we going to…you know?"

"Well, technically speaking, you'll put your penis in my vagina," Hermione said plainly, doing her best to keep her face void of any emotion.

"Oh yeah?" Harry lifted his brows in mock surprise. "Smart-ass."

Hermione laughed, her nose wrinkling as her smile widened across her face, making her eyes sparkle in the light of her room. "I try." Reaching out, she pulled down her periwinkle damask comforter before slipping beneath her sheets. Once settling in, her blanket around her waist, she looked up at Harry expectantly before reaching out to pat the bed beside her. "You know in order for this to work you'll have to actually _get in_, right?"

Harry rolled his eyes as he followed her command, crawling under the sheets beside her so his legs brushed against hers. "I'm well aware. I'm just trying to figure out the logistics," Harry explained, watching as she reclined against her mountain of pillows. Why women insisted on having more than two pillows was absolutely beyond him. What was the actual purpose of having extras? Did they build forts in their spare time? Or was it to smother their partners on cold rainy nights? "I mean…obviously I'm ready to go," he said before gesturing to his groin.

"I can see that," Hermione murmured, biting her bottom lip to suppress another giggle.

Harry should have blushed. He should have been mortified about finding her as attractive as he did, but Merlin's saggy y-fronts, had he known what she was hiding all those years under the sweaters and pleated skirts, he just might have creamed his trousers back at Hogwarts at the thought of ever even talking to her! "Well, it's hard not to be inspired…if you know what I mean."

Hermione's cheeks blossomed with a light pink blush and she averted her eyes to her lap. Low in her belly a butterfly appeared, fluttering its wings against her insides, and despite enjoying the feeling, she knew she needed to change the course of this conversation before the butterflies multiplied. This wasn't about feelings, right? This was strictly physical. About fucking. Scratching an itch and moving on.

Gulping down the lump in her throat, she reached behind her to remove one of her pillows, tossing it on the floor before she glanced back at him. "I could use some help…_if_ you're okay with doing that."

Harry cocked his head to the side, his brow knitting in confusion, and it wasn't until she gestured towards her groin that the connection was made. "Oh! You want me to go down on you?" Harry questioned before giving an eager nod. "Sure! What are friends for?"

Hermione couldn't help but burst out laughing as Harry eagerly disappeared beneath the sheets, crawling his way in between her legs that she parted for him. Her hands rested against her middle on top of the sheets, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip as she bent her legs at the knee and draped them over his shoulders.

She could feel him move closer towards her pussy, his hot breath ghosting over her shaven folds, causing goosebumps to run the length of her arms. She waited impatiently, the anticipation rising steadily inside her as what felt like minutes ticked by. Merlin, what the hell was he doing? Staring at it? Why hadn't he started yet? "Everything alright down there?"

"Yeah, just stretching my mouth real quick!" he called to her from beneath the bedding.

Just as she opened her mouth to question why the hell he needed to stretch his mouth, she felt his hands press against her thighs, his thumbs parting her labia, silencing any questions she had.

His mouth was on her.

Holy fucking shit.

Harry was licking her cunt.

Not just licking it, but absolutely ravenously attacking her with his tongue, mouth and teeth.

Holy fucking shit.

He was _awful!_

"Harry," Hermione said, trying her best to conceal the disappointment from her voice. "Harry, stop."

"What?" He reached up, pulling the covers down to pool around his neck as he looked up at her from between her parted thighs.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" Hermione blurted out.

"Uh…I thought that was fairly obvious."

"Well I know what you're _supposed_ to be doing, but…Merlin, has anyone told you that you were actually good at this?" Hermione questioned, her voice ticking up in disbelief.

"Excuse me? Yes, all the time!" Harry defended, pushing himself up from the mattress to kneel between her parted thighs.

"Well they lied."

Harry opened his mouth in shock, preparing to defend his skill but quickly decided it wasn't worth the fight considering this was supposed to be about pleasing her, not about his own ego. "I highly doubt that they all lied. However maybe instead of telling me I suck, you tell me what you like?" Harry suggested, cocking his head to the side.

"Fine. Just use less teeth. It's a vagina, not an apple," Hermione agreed as she sat up and put her hand on the top of Harry's head, and applied pressure to encourage him to go back beneath the covers.

"Whatever," Harry huffed, following her lead and lowering back down to lay between her thighs. He anchored her legs over his shoulders once more, his arms curling around her thighs as he leaned in, pressing his tongue against her cunt with a slow sweep.

A small purr rumbled from the back of her throat, her eyes fluttering closed. "Yes. Like that," she instructed.

Harry doubled his efforts, gently parting her labia once again so he could press the tip of his tongue against her clit.

"No. Not like that." Hermione tilted her hips away from his touch as a shiver ran down her spine. "Too…much," she breathed, her fingers sliding through his hair to angle his head. "Use the flat of your tongue, not the tip."

Harry complied, his fingers curling into the softness of her thighs as he focused on running his tongue across her clit in slow sweeping laps. His eyes lifted, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest as he worked his tongue, paying attention to the subtle cues that she enjoyed a particular twitch from his tongue and nip from his lips.

Hermione's hips rocked in time with his mouth, the familiar coil of heat beginning to burn low in her belly and wind up. "Oh gods, right there," Hermione encouraged, her back arching off the bed, and her hand moved from the back of his head to run up her belly to her breasts. Her fingers pinched softly at her nipples, pulling lightly against the hardened peaks.

Harry wrapped his lips around her clit, humming lightly, the vibration earning a breathy moan of his name as she keened. Okay, _that_ he could do again and again.

His right hand slid across her thigh until he brushed two of his fingers through her folds, coating them in her juices before he slipped them inside her core and Hermione was fairly certain she saw stars.

Her hips set a rhythm, using the small thrust from his fingers to guide her towards her goal as the coil inside her stomach wound tighter and tighter until she wasn't sure how much longer she could last. Her legs quivered with pent up energy, and she could feel the crackle of magic snap at the tips of her hair as her fingers curled into her sheets, her nails scratching at the soft cotton in an attempt to latch onto something before she slipped over the edge.

And just when she wasn't sure she could take anymore, she fell.

The fire licked at her lungs as she cried out his name, her thighs pressing against his shoulders, trying to hold him in place as her pussy spasmed around his fingers. There was no white hot light, nor butterflies she might feel if this was being done with someone she had true feelings for. No, this was pure primal release.

Her entire body went tense, as she rode wave after wave of pleasure until she physically could take no more and she pressed the heel of her hand into his forehead until his lips dislodged from her clit.

"Holy…fucking…shite," Hermione panted, her knees falling against the bed in a wide part after she pulled her legs from his shoulders.

"Good?" Harry moved from between her legs, crawling up on the bed as he rolled onto his back beside her. Using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth, he let his head fall to the side to look at her, his glasses slightly askew on his face, hair still wild and reckless. Even Hermione had to admit there was a devil-may-care sort of appeal about Harry. While he wasn't her first choice of what she would normally consider desirable, she could see how other witches went head over tea kettle for the wizard.

Hermione nodded, already chewing on her bottom lip. "Very adequate… after a rocky start. I'd give it an A for acceptable."

"An A!?" Harry gasped, his mouth dropping and eyes widening. "I would say it was an E—at a minimum."

Hermione's nose wrinkled as she laughed, her smile so wide she was certain Harry might be able to see her molars. "There's always room for improvement," she said encouragingly as she reached over to pat his shoulder in mock sympathy.

"Oh, you little shit," Harry swatted away her hand before he slid his hands behind his head, his eyes floating to the ceiling as he positioned himself flat on his back. "And I supposed you're _so_ much better at oral."

"So I've been told," Hermione replied confidently as she rolled on her side to face Harry, propping her head up on her palm.

"Wager to put your money where your mouth is?"

"No particularly," Hermione snorted, "I've got plenty of money, thank you very much. Not all of us spend our earnings on frivolous things such as new broomsticks every year, or fancy kitchen equipment that you never properly use."

"Okay, first off, broomsticks are _not_ frivolous. I use them during my pickup games. Secondly, you have no idea how often I used my kitchen, therefore you cannot say if it was frivolous to buy the Dogan's pan set or not," Harry defended, rolling on his side to face Hermione, letting his glasses slide down his nose as he curled his arm under the pillow to prop up his head a bit more.

"Harry, you literally never cook anything but cheese toasties," Hermione deadpanned, the corners of her lips tugging with the slightest hint of a smile. "Knowing this, why on earth would you need a paella pan? Or a stock pot?"

"I am not going to dignify that question with an answer," Harry said with a small wave of his head. "Regardless, I wasn't interested in actually wagering money. More like...If you're not as fantastic as you claim, then you have to ...oh I don't know, let's say…let me shag you in your office."

"And if I am as good as I claim?" Hermione asked confidently.

"Then I get to shag you in your office."

"That really doesn't give me a reason to try, now does it?"

"Okay fine. You win and…I'll give you that bottle of Scotch Kingsley gave me last Christmas."

Hermione, who had been rather disinterested by his first offer instantly perked up, her eyes widening infinitesimally. "The Druid brewed one?" she confirmed, a slow smile spreading across her lips.

"The very one," Harry replied, wagging his brows at her.

Hermione didn't bother with a reply; instead she allowed her actions to speak for her. Reaching out she pushed Harry flat on her mattress before crawling over him, her breasts brushing against his chest and abdomen as she slithered beneath the covers.

Pulling her hair over her left shoulder, Hermione positioned herself between Harry's parted legs, her face inches away from his very hard cock. Her tongue ran across her lips as she wrapped her fingers around the base, stroking over the velvet-like skin that encased his member as she tilted her head to the side, internally debating the best method with which she should go about undertaking this task.

To say she'd had previous experience doing this would have been underplaying her skill. Like most other things in life, Hermione strived for perfection, and giving a blow job was no different. Shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts, once the dust had settled, she allowed herself to start pursuing the normal life of a teenager. Which included copious amounts of sex.

Her and Ron's relationship had been short lived, but it allowed her to realise just how bloody fun it all was.

Which lead to a string of men who came and went from her life—and more importantly, her bedroom, Oliver Wood, Lee Jordan, and Theodore Nott just to name a few. All of whom were more than willing to allow her to perfect the art of giving what she humbly believed was the _perfect_ blow job.

"Just so you know, I like it when—"

Hermione didn't give him a chance to finish his advice, instead leaning forward and pressing the flat of her tongue at the base of his cock and slowly licking her way to the flared tip before she wrapped her lips around it.

"—Oh Godric."

Despite having a rather full mouth, she could feel the corners of her mouth tug in a smirk as a flicker of pride bloomed in her belly. Closing her eyes, she began to bob her head over his cock, taking more and more of him in her mouth until her nose was tickled by the dark black hair that lay below his belt line.

She felt his hand move into her hair, his blunt fingers scratching lightly at her scalp as she hollowed her cheeks around his cock, doubling her efforts. Her tongue swirled along the underside of his shaft as she worked him in her mouth, tickling across the head of his cock in sweeping flicks each time she pulled back.

It didn't take long—not that she expected it to—for her to feel the muscles in his abdomen and thighs tighten in a tell tale sign he was going to cum soon. Her hand that still sat around the base of his cock, holding him upright, began to work in time with her head, applying just enough pressure to bring him closer.

"Stop…Merlin, fucking stop," Harry groaned, the hand in her hair pulling lightly at her curls until she came off him with an audible pop that made his spine tingle.

"What?" Hermione used her free hand to push the covers back so she could look up at him. Almost instantly she regretted it. He looked bloody fit. His eyes half-lidded, glazed over with pure desire, his lips red and swollen from how he'd chewed on them, and his cheeks flushed. Nearly instantly she felt her pussy pulse, aching with a renewed desire.

She wanted him.

Fuck, she _wanted_ her best friend.

"Up here," Harry breathed, his voice low and gravelly as he pulled his hand from her curls. "_Now._"

Who was she to argue with that?

Hermione scrambled up the bed, his chest hair scratching deliciously at her nipples as she moved over him until she straddled his hips, the length of his cock aligning with her slit so his flared head nestled against her hardened clit.

Harry's hands found her waist, anchoring her into place as he rocked up into her, pushing and probing at her pleasure centre. "Potion?" she was vaguely aware of him asking as she gripped his shoulders, her nails scratching at the skin.

"Mhmm…" she responded, her eyes fluttering closed as she rolled her hips into his, seeking a deeper friction.

"Thank fucking Merlin," Harry growled in response.

Before she could register what was happening, he lifted her by her waist, holding her aloft as his cock slipped into place at her entrance, and in one fluid motion he was inside her.

"Oh fuck!" Hermione gasped, her eyes opening wide as he pulled her down until he was fully seated inside her body.

The thoughts of how awkward this was going to be were gone. Eviscerated by the deliciously full feeling that pulsed through her body from her aching core.

Harry wasted no time setting a rhythm, his rough grip on her hips pushing and pulling her until their bodies fell in sync with one another. "Harder," she moaned, her hips grinding against his in a desperate plea for more friction as she slid down his cock.

Her mind spun, focusing only on the intense pleasure that washed over her each time he bottomed out inside her, causing her toes to curl in pleasure.

His hands moved up the sides of her body from her hips, his fingers spread wide to touch as much of her skin as possible on their path to her breasts that bounced so enticingly in front of his face as she rode him. His fingers plucked and pinched at her dark pink nipples, earning little gasps and breathy moans in approval that spurred his hips faster underneath her.

"H-Harder."

Ever the people-pleaser, Harry's hand grasped Hermione's shoulder, pulling her down until their bodies were parallel to one another and he rolled over so she lay beneath him. "Bossy," he growled playfully, his breath ghosting over her face as he grabbed her leg by the knee, and bent it until he had her spread open.

"I just know what I—Oh fuck."

Hermione's eyes rolled to the back of her head at the first snap of his hips, and soon closed as it began to be too much effort to keep them open as he pounded into her with a pace that made the world disappear. She could feel her pussy flutter around his cock as that coil low in her belly wound so tight her breath caught in her throat.

One more. One more and she'd be there.

That thought stayed on the forefront of her mind until everything simply vanished as she tumbled over. Her orgasm hit her hard. Stars burst behind her eyelids, and her entire body vibrated as she cried out his name, her fingernails leaving deep grooves across his back as she clung to him in a desperate need to anchor herself to reality.

He might have been shite at oral, but Harry was bloody brilliant in the sack. This was one rumour Hermione would never question the truth behind ever again.

It didn't take him long to follow her into oblivion.

As she rode down the high from her climax, she could feel his cock pulse inside her, spilling his seed until he rolled onto the bed beside her, spent.

Her hand rose, pushing back the baby fine curls that clung to her forehead as she lay with her legs still crudely spread, unsure she could even fucking move them together because she was _that_ tired.

"Good?" Harry asked, still panting beside her.

Rolling her head to the side to look at him, Hermione gave him a lazy smile as she held a thumbs up toward him before bursting into giggles as she watched a shite eating grin wash over his flushed face. "I expect my scotch on my desk tomorrow at work," she informed him as she pushed herself to sit up, before moving from the bed on wobbly legs towards her bathroom.

Harry snorted, his hand ruffling through his hair as he watched her arse move towards the loo attached to her bedroom. It was only when she cracked the door behind her that he replied. "I still have to give it to you after that orgasm I gave you?"

"Uh…Yes. I won our bet. You are required to pay up Mr. Potter," she called out to him.

"Do I at least get to shag you in your office?" Harry whined as he moved off her bed, grabbing his boxers from the floor where he'd discarded them earlier and slipping them back on. When she only gave a laugh in disbelief as a reply, he knew it was a moot point. For tonight, at least.

The sound of the shower being turned on let him know she wasn't going to see him out, which was honestly a relief, considering he still wasn't entirely sure how this all was supposed to work out—the whole casual shagging and going home after fucking your best mate.

Redressing and grabbing his keys, wallet and wand from her living room, Harry popped back into her room to shout a brief, "See you tomorrow!" into her steamy bathroom before he moved to the fireplace.

Grabbing powder from the pot, he tossed the emerald sand into the dying embers and waited for the fire to turn green before stepping into the flames. "Grimmauld Place!" he called into the network before being whisked away from her flat.

He should have felt awkward.

He should have felt guilty.

But the moment that his trainers hit the hearth of his own fireplace, he only felt one strange and entirely new emotion.

Completely, and utterly _fucked_.

* * *

Hermione hid in the bathroom.

She shagged her best friend and then literally hid in the bathroom until he left her flat because what she saw in the mirror after she'd used the toilet was enough to scare her.

Her hair was wild. Curls askew. Her skin red and splotchy from the throws of passion. Her hips already bruising from where his hands had settled on her waist, but that wasn't the problem.

It was her eyes.

They way they were glassy from the afterglow of what they'd done.

It was the way her thighs ached from where his hips slammed into them.

The was that her pussy still throbbed for his cock despite having just shagged him.

This was strictly physical. She knew this.

Her mind knew this, her body knew this, but deep down inside, she knew that her heart was going to need reminding of that fact if she planned on making it through this unusual turn of events in their friendship.

* * *

1\. No Kissing  
2\. No One Knows  
3\. No Sleepovers  
4\. No Cuddling  
5\. No Romance  
6\. No Expectations  
7\. No Asking About The Other Person's Dates  
8\. No Jealousy  
9\. No Going on Dates with Each other  
10\. No Falling in Love


	3. Chapter 3

"Wait, are you talking about a friends with benefits type of situation?" Seamus didn't even bother looking up from the candy dish that he was currently poking through, his thick brown fringe hanging loosely across his forehead. "Or was that like a one-time thing?"

Harry, who had been trying to wrap up his paperwork for the Lochmier case when Seamus burst into his office to raid his candy dish, glanced at said paperwork that was currently pinned under his friend's arse before looking back up at the wizard. "Uh…I mean. We've only done it once so far."

Seamus held up a light blue Bertie Bott's bean to the light, carefully examining the sweet. "But would you do it again?" he questioned before turning to look at him, holding the bean closer to Harry's face. "Soap?"

"No, blueberry," Harry replied confidently before pushing back in his office chair and kicking his feet up on the far corner of his desk. If he was going to be prevented from doing any work he might as well be comfortable, right? "And sure. I mean, I'm only human right?"

"But even with Hermione?" Seamus popped the candy in his mouth and turned his attention back to the dish in his hands, searching through the flavors.

"She's fit, why not her?"

Seamus lifted his eyes, peering over the glass rim of the bowl in disbelief before he dropped them to search once more. "I am obviously not the person you should be discussing her physical appeal with, Harry. You know full well I find the female gender rather…"

"Unappealing?" Harry chuckled, his hands moving to rest on the back of his neck as he leaned back in his chair with his elbows out.

"Disgusting," Seamus corrected before selecting a lime green bean from the dish, and he held it to the light, narrowing his eyes at it. "Was she any good?"

"I wouldn't eat that one. It's lawn clippings, mate," Harry warned Seamus just as he was about to put the bean in his mouth.

"Merlin's pants, Harry. Get some normal fucking sweets, would you?" Seamus growled in frustration. Clearly no longer wanting to play a game of candy roulette, he tossed the dish back on Harry's desk before roughly putting the lid on top.

"You could always bring your own in instead of raiding mine you know?" Harry cocked his brow, his lips pressing together in an attempt to suppress his laugh as he watched his longtime friend begin to open his desk drawers in search of more food to pilfer.

While he had always been friendly with Seamus while attending school, he would have previously never really considered the wizard a friend . Of course, that all changed the first day in Auror training when the smart-mouthed Scot walked into the training room fifteen minutes late sporting a neck full of large, red love bites. Seamus had felt the call into magical law enforcement just the same as Harry and Ron, but damn near refused to change from the same boy who blew up cauldrons. While his crass and oftentimes juvenile humor would grate on the nerves of their instructors, it was kind of a relief to Harry. He'd spent far too much of his youth taking things seriously.

Their relationship only grew stronger once Ron left the academy to help run Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. They'd been paired together often, and finished out their training side by side. Which was why when Harry took his promotion to Captain last spring, Seamus was quick to apply to work under him.

"But then I'd have to buy it, and why the hell would I do that when I could just come eat yours?" Seamus said as he searched. When he finally made it to the drawer Harry used to hide his bags of crisps , he out a small 'ah-ha!' before snatching an unopened bag and slammed the drawer shut with his foot. "You didn't answer the question though."

"What question?" Harry feigned ignorance. Of course he knew the fucking question, but he wasn't one to kiss and tell. Or rather shag and tell. Besides, he was fairly certain Hermione would skin him alive if they got too personal.

"Was she any good?" Seamus repeated through a mouthful of crisps, wagging his brows.

Harry shrugged, his right hand moving across his head to ruffle his hair. It was a nervous tic he'd had since he was a small child—one that his Auror trainers tried to rid him of at the start of academy many years ago, to no avail.

"She was _that_ bad, huh? Guess it figures. You don't learn much in the art of the horizontal hustle by sticking your nose in a book," Seamus mused aloud, crunching loudly on his crisps. "Part of the reason why Dean must be so good at sucking cock.'

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Harry sat up, his boots hitting the floor as leaned forward to snatch the bag from the wizard's hands and he took a crisp, popping it in his mouth. "She was great, alright? I just didn't want to say anything. She's still my best friend."

"Whom you're fucking?" Seamus cocked his head to the side, cocking a single brow at Harry playfully.

"Who I shagged—_once,_" Harry clarified before holding out the bag for Seamus to take. "And while I am absolutely not defending her honour, I would like to point out she requires no revision when it comes to giving oral," Harry said with a slow blush, purposefully averting his gaze.

"Ha! I hardly doubt that. Dean could make you—"

Seamus' oversharing was cut short by a quick wrap on Harry's door, something Harry was particularly grateful for. Reaching out he pushed Seamus off his desk and straightened some of the papers so it looked less like a Niffler had destroyed them in search of treasures, before calling out, "Come in!"

The door slowly opened, just wide enough for a person to slip through and even before she moved into his office, Harry knew who it was by the subtle squeak of her flats.

"Harry, I think we—Oh! Seamus," she said when she finally looked up, brown eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights. "Sorry, I didn't expect you to be in here."

"No one ever does. That's precisely why I nap in here while he's out," Seamus replied with a wink, tossing another chip in his mouth.

"You nap in here?" Harry's head swiveled toward Seamus, his brows raised in surprise. "Seamus, you're not supposed to be in my office when I'm not here."

"Yeah? You really ought to lock it then," Seamus said with a shrug.

"I do!"

Seamus paused, his index finger tapping on his chin in playful thought. "Huh, maybe you do. Doesn't matter though. This isn't about me. How have you been, love? Are they treating you okay on the fourth floor?" he said as he waved off Harry with a flick of his wrist.

"About the same, I suppose." Hermione leaned back on the wall, her hands clasping at her lower back nervously. "Lots of late nights, and paperwork. But we all have to start somewhere, right?"

"Sure. Us plebeians do. _You_ could have waltzed into the Ministry and taken a Senior Litigation position and you know it." Seamus pointed at her with a crisp, his gaze narrowing just slightly. "But if I know you half as well as I think I do, you probably said something stupid like _I want to be treated like everyone else_ or something equally as absurd."

Harry snorted, his hand moving to slap over his lips to cover his laugh as he looked between the two. When Hermione gave him an exasperated look, he held up his hands innocently. "I didn't say it! He did… but he is right. You _could_ have had Young's job and you know it."

"Just because I don't use my fame," Hermione said with a well-placed roll of her eyes, tsking as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"You really ought to! Before I shacked up with Dean I used what little claim I had to my advantage all the time. Do you realise how much dick I got?" Seamus questioned, his eyes taking on an almost faraway look. "Those really were the days."

"And on that note, thank you for stopping by Seamus, but I think it is time for you to return to work," Harry said quickly, rising from his desk, nearly knocking over his chair as he moved to literally push Seamus towards his office door.

"What? Was it something I said?" Seamus tossed the empty crisp wrapper in the bin that sat beside Harry's door before lifting his hand in an enthusiastic wave over the top of his and Harry's heads. "See ya around, Hermione!"

"Give Dean my love," Hermione laughed, her hand going up to rest over her lips to hide her smile as she watched Harry shove him from the office before he leaned back on his door, his hands smoothing over the top of his untidy hair.

"Sorry about him," Harry said with an apologetic smile.

"Seamus is fine," Hermione assured him. Now that it was just the two of them, alone, in his office, the confidence she held moments earlier vanished into the pit of her stomach. Merlin, this was Harry, this wasn't supposed to feel awkward, right? They'd been friends for ages. He knew her before she had breasts for fuck's sake! "I um… was actually coming to see if you wanted to go for a walk."

"I'm just finishing up some paperwork," Harry said, gesturing to the mess of his desk. "But it can wait!" he tacked on hastily when he noticed a slight sag to her shoulders.

"I don't want to bug you if you're busy." Hermione chewed on her bottom lip as she glanced over to his desk which was absolutely overflowing with files, parchment, and what she vaguely made out as take out menus. "You're obviously busy. I'll just come back another time—or just owl you. It's not a big deal."

Harry watched dumbfounded as Hermione began to move towards the door, her hand outstretched and poised to open it; his brows hit his hairline. "Mione… Hermione. It's fine. Really," he said quickly, reaching out and placing a hand on her arm, pausing her retreat. "Everything okay?"

Was everything okay? Of course it wasn't! They'd _shagged_. They'd broken the unwritten rule about being best friends with the opposite gender! "Yeah…fine," she lied.

"Really?" Harry pressed. He'd known her since she was eleven. He'd like to think he had her figured out enough by now to know when she was lying, and that squeak to her voice was a clear indication that everything was most certainly not okay. "You know what, don't answer that," he said quickly before tugging her with him across the room towards the fireplace attached to his office.

Reaching into the terracotta pot on the mantel, he tossed a handful of Floo powder into the low heatless flames that flickered inside. "Where to?"

"The Leaky?"

"During the lunch hour?" Harry glanced over his shoulder, cocking a single brow at her.

Hermione nodded, sweeping her tongue across her lips. "We can go into London…avoid the press."

While not his first choice, he could only assume that her plan had been carefully crafted—as it was typically in her nature. Sliding his hand down her arm, his fingers laced with hers in a casual hold as he stepped into the flames, making sure they were both inside before calling out, "The Leaky Cauldron!"

Hermione leaned into Harry, her eyes slamming shut as the rushing wind of Floo travel tossed her hair about. She loved the convenience of Magical travel. How could she not? Portkeys, Floo Network, Apparition. It was all so bloody brilliant, but she would be lying if she said a small part of her didn't dread the tossing and turning it did to her stomach.

Upon arrival at the Leaky, Harry, in a manner reminiscent of a shaggy dog, shook the soot from his hair as he stepped out of the fireplace. He could already feel eyes on him. The low chattering of whispered conversations reached his ears as he stepped onto the hearth, removing his hand from Hermione's so he could clean his glasses on the hem of his shirt.

"Harry Potter!" Tom called out from behind the bar, his hand lifting in a jovial greeting.

Harry flinched at the greeting, and the subsequent gasp it caused around him. "Hullo Tom," he returned weakly, giving a small wave to the enthusiastic barkeep.

"Oh great," Hermione murmured as she stepped beside Harry, brushing her hands across her trousers.

"Is that Hermione? My goodness, what a lucky day! I was just telling Finneon here about how often I saw you lot growing up!" Tom boasted proudly as he tossed a dingy hand towel over his shoulder. "Don't happen to have Ron tucked in there with you, do you?"

Harry forced a smile, giving a small nod of his head to the clearly star-stuck wizard sitting in front of Tom at the bar, his beer stein frozen at his lips. "Afraid not. We're actually just going into London." Harry had already begun to walk towards the front door of the bar, making his retreat before further attention could be called to them.

"Do tell him to come pop on by! I see his brothers all the time!" Tom shouted after Harry and Hermione as they made their hasty escape.

"We'll pass the message," Hermione shouted over her shoulder before slipping through the front door.

The ambience of Charing Cross Road far differed from the sleepy setting inside The Leaky. The street was alive, bustling with the busy lunch rush that the neighborhood was known for. Muggles in business suits darted across the roads with their mobile phones to their ears, trying to hurry up and finish business conversations before they popped into the local eateries for a bite to eat.

Hermione stood still, side-stepping to avoid getting knocked over by a dog walker that was moving briskly down the sidewalk with two large Old English Sheepdogs. Nudging Harry's arm, she pulled his attention to her before nodding to the left, indicating she intended to head that direction.

They walked in silence, shoulder to shoulder down the road towards nowhere in particular. Hermione knew this neighborhood well, having bought a small flat nearly two years ago just two blocks up. The realtor she worked with spoke of the potential the once-quiet neighborhood had, which at the time she was hard pressed to believe. But the woman had been quite right. Within record time new shops opened, restaurants filled the neighborhood with their enticing aromas, and young families moved into the vacant dwellings.

"So…" Harry said, breaking the silence as they passed a pastry shop. His eyes lingered on the logo, recognizing it from the various paper cups and white sacks Hermione carried into work.

"It was a mistake, right?" Hermione blurted out, not daring to look up at her friend as she moved down the sidewalk. Gods, she hoped she wasn't reading this wrong. She prayed he felt the same. It was fun—don't get her wrong. Harry was quite good in bed, but…he was her friend! They shouldn't have done that, no matter how bloody great it felt.

"Oh thank gods, I thought it was just me." Harry breathed a sigh in relief, his hand moving to the back of his neck.

"It was so awkward." Hermione glanced over to Harry.

"Well…I wouldn't go _that_ far," Harry defended.

"Oh no, I didn't mean _you_ were awkward," Hermione rushed to correct, her cheeks tinting pink as she tucked some loose curls behind her ears. "No, what we did—well that was great."

"Thank you," Harry interrupted, a crooked grin spreading across his lips.

Hermione couldn't prevent the roll of her eyes even if she wanted. While she didn't mind supplying the praise, she was positive Harry hardly needed any in that particular department. "Regardless of how fulfilling it was, it was awkward. Harry, you're my best friend."

"And you're mine," Harry agreed. "You were great too, by the way. But I agree. It was a tad uncomfortable the next day when I saw you in the lobby."

"I know, right?" Hermione sighed, her hand going up to her forehead, and she pressed her fingers to the pressure point between her eyes. "I couldn't stop thinking about how I'd just seen you naked."

"Which is why you ran?" Harry said before letting out a small bark of a laugh. "Mione, you've seen me naked before."

"It was an accident last time!" Hermione hissed, trying to bring his voice down as they passed a mother pushing a buggy down the road. "Besides, last time I saw you I didn't put your… _you know_ in my mouth."

"Cock?"

"Shh!" Hermione practically lurched at Harry, her hand slamming over his lips as her eyes widened. "We're in public Harry! People can hear us."

Harry reached up, wrapping his fingers around her wrist, and he slowly peeled her hand from his mouth. "No one is paying attention to us, Mione," Harry whispered before his free hand made a sweeping gesture around them to prove his point.

Her eyes followed his hand over the crowd of Muggles who littered the street around them. True to his statement, not a single one seemed to so much as give a second glance their way.

"Whatever," Hermione sighed, her lips thinning. "We shouldn't do it again. For the sake of our friendship."

Harry nodded, slipping his hands into the front pocket of his denim trousers. "Agreed. Just a one time thing. Let's chalk it up to morbid curiosity."

"Great." Hermione nodded, confidently tugging on the bottom of her blouse to pull the wrinkles from it. "I'm glad we can be adults about this."

Harry shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. "Alright, Miss Responsibility. Now that that's settled and you're no longer avoiding me—"

"I wasn't avoiding you. I was just giving you space," Hermione corrected.

"Right. Space. Anyway, where are you taking me for lunch?" Harry wagged his brows at her before sidestepping to avoid a jogger.

"I'm taking _you_ to lunch? Don't you owe me from last week?"

"No Muggle money," Harry lied, shrugging his shoulders with feigned regret.

Hermione shook her head, knowing full well he always carried at least thirty quid in his pocketbook for his monthly pints with Dudley. "Well, it's nearly noon. All the restaurants are going to be packed and I have a meeting at 1:30 with Waterson. We can just pop by my flat. I've got leftovers or I can throw together a salad or something."

"Sound great to me." Harry reached out and casually dropped his arm around Hermione's shoulder, easing her body into his as they walked down the road. "You know us shagging would never ruin our friendship right? You can't shake me that easy, Mione."

"I'm well aware." Hermione leaned into his embrace, silently relishing the comforting warmth being close to him provided her soul. While shagging Harry had added a new dynamic to their friendship, she never feared she'd lose him in the process. He'd been by her side for over half her life now. Trying to envision a world without him in it was quite literally impossible. And while he spoke what she could only hope was the truth, she wasn't ready to chance it.

They made it to her building quickly, having only been one block away. Walking into the lobby, she gave a friendly greeting to her bell man before pressing the button for the lift. Harry lingered behind her, rocking on his heels as they waited for it to appear.

She lived on the top floor of her building—a small luxury she allowed herself at the time of her purchase—which meant the stairs were out of the question. As they waited, she couldn't help but feel Harry's eyes on her from behind, causing the skin on the back of her neck to prickle. It was nothing—they'd just agreed that what happened between them was a one time thing. But the tingle of butterflies in her belly returned the moment they made it into the tiny lift.

Hermione leaned against the wall, her fingers picking at the seam on the bottom of her blouse as she stole glances at Harry. He might have been her friend, but she wasn't blind to his appeal. He was handsome. Dark black hair, bright green eyes, and an almost roguish smile that took even her breath away at times. But what made it all worse was knowing what lay beneath his clothing. The hard muscles, the black trail of hair that ran from under his navel to his—. Hermione shook her head, internally cursing herself for even allowing her mind to wander.

Harry watched her struggle. He might not have picked up Legilimency, but it didn't take literal mind reading for him to know exactly what she was thinking, because he was thinking it too. How had he gone so long ignoring her sexuality? The shape of her hips, the swell of her breasts, and, Merlin help him, those legs.

The lift chimed with each passing floor, the tinkling noise filling the silence that seemed to swallow them up.

When the chime rang for the fourth floor, Harry could no longer take it; the tension that weighed so heavily between them still. The way she stood just an arm's reach away with those perfectly shaped lips that were begging to be kissed.

"Mione." His voice was already low, gravely with forbidden desire. It was _just _shagging. How badly could it ruin their friendship, right? And it wasn't like he actually fancied her. He was just attracted to her—physically speaking.

"Hm?" Hermione looked up, her irises blown wide, her teeth chewing on her bottom lip nervously.

"Fuck it." Harry crossed the lift, one hand sliding into her curls on the side of her face, the other finding her waist as he pressed her against the wall, his head dropping so his lips could press into hers.

Hermione gasped, her hands instinctively resting on his chest as a tingle of magic sparked between them. Circe, this was so wrong, but so bloody right. Rising on her tiptoes, her mouth moved against his, her lips parting to allow his tongue entrance. Her fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him impossibly close.

His tongue brushed across hers softly, encouraging her into the kiss as his hips slotted against hers. Hermione mewed into his mouth, practically purring under his touch as his fingertips ran down the column of her throat and over her breasts on their way to her waist.

Distantly she could hear the lift chime on its ascent towards her floor, but her mind was so deep in lust-induced fog she didn't bother to pay attention. None of it mattered anyways. All she could think about was Harry. His touch, his kiss and how she could feel his cock press against her hip, already hard.

Her hand moved down his chest, sliding across the hardened muscles that lay beneath, and she pressed her palm against the bulge in his denim, earning a low growl in response that made her thighs press together in achy need. She knew they shouldn't do this for a number of reasons, but most importantly because they were in the middle of her building's lift. But hearing that noise, and feeling his grip tighten on her waist only spurred the impulsivity of what they were doing.

Their kiss broke as she slipped her hand into his trousers, her fingertips sliding across his shaft through his cotton boxers and she let out a small yelp in surprise when his teeth nipped at her neck. "Harry," Hermione encouraged with a soft moan, her head lulling back to expose more of her neck to him.

Harry rutted into her hand, his eyes rolling behind his eyelids at the thrilling feeling of her fingers on his member. His teeth scraped against the junction where her neck met her shoulders, nipping his way along her collarbone as he stretched the neck of her blouse until he could hear the seams pop.

Just as his nose nudged across the scar Bellatrix left, his mouth poised to lavish the raised skin with the affection it deserved, the sound of the lift doors opening echoed behind him and a small gasp could be heard from the lobby of her floor.

Hermione yanked her hand from his trousers and pushed Harry off her quickly. A deep crimson blush spread from the apples of her cheeks down her neck as she caught the eye of her elderly neighbors who were standing just at the threshold from the lift into her lobby. "Good afternoon Mrs. Harrelson," Hermione said with a trembling voice as she walked out of the lift, forcing a small grin at the white-haired neighbor.

"Miss Granger," she returned, her voice crisp with disapproval as the elderly woman eyed Harry, who was hot on Hermione's heel, keeping his head low to avoid the stern gaze.

"Mr. Harrelson," Hermione said as she edged past the salt-and-pepper-haired man. Based on the twinkle in his eye, she knew there was absolutely no bloody way either of them didn't see exactly what had occurred.

"It's so nice to see you with a young man, Miss Granger," Mr Harrelson called to Hermione as she retreated down the hallway quickly, her flats snapping on the tiled floor.

"_Arnold!_" Mrs. Harrelson hissed, the disapproval thick in her tone.

A short forced laugh left her throat before she could prevent it. Hermione lifted her hand in an awkward acknowledgement of Mr. Harrelson's comment, not daring to look back and catch sight of the tight-lipped judgement from his wife. Fishing her keys from her pocket, Hermione hastily unlocked her front door.

Down the hallway she could hear the lift doors close, silencing the distant hushed fight between the married couple. Twisting the doorknob, Hermione pushed open her front door, letting it swing wide before she turned on her heel to face Harry who stood inches behind her.

Well, they'd already started something. She figured once more couldn't hurt.

Grabbing the front of his shirt, Hermione pulled Harry toward her as she leaned up on her toes, her lips pressing into his in a forceful kiss as she wound her arm across his shoulders, her breasts pressing against his broad chest as she swept her tongue in his mouth once more.

She felt Harry's hands at her waist, sliding across her hips to her backside where he picked her up with an ease that made her knees weak. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms anchoring her torso to his chest as Harry carried her into her flat. She lifted her free hand from his shoulder, and with a push of nonverbal magic, her front door slammed shut and the lock latched.

"Where to?" Harry mumbled against her mouth, nipping at her bottom lip as he hoisted her higher on his hips so his cock pressed against her core through their trousers.

Hermione's mind swirled. The bedroom had the best lighting, but after agreeing to not continue this dangerous game they'd started, it felt too meaningful. Her couch was covered in a mountain of laundry that still needed folding, which meant her options were literally the rug in front of her fireplace or, "The kitchen."

Harry didn't balk or argue thankfully, and instead moved quickly through her tiny flat towards her kitchen. Once inside he placed her on the edge of her countertop, his hands sliding from her legs up her sides to her breasts where he brushed his thumbs across her hardened nipples through her blouse.

Her whine was swallowed up by his lips as he plucked and pinched at her nipples as her hands dropped to his belt. She made quick work of his button and zip, and pulled his denims open wide before she forced both his boxers and trousers down below his arse.

"Eager?" Harry teased between kisses.

"Shut up and fuck me." Hermione wrapped her hand around the base of his manhood, squeezing softly as she stroked her fingers across the velvet skin.

Harry growled in response, rocking into her grasp as he unbuttoned her blouse and pulled down the cups of her bra before his hands moved to her waist. She could feel his fingers fumble with the clasp that held her trousers aloft, struggling to figure out how to operate it. "Fucking trousers," he growled into her lips before he waved his hands across her thighs. "_Evanesco!"_

"Harry!" Hermione gasped as the cold air of her flat hit her previously covered skin. "Those were my favorite!" she scolded with little heat in her tone as she scooted to the very edge of the countertop and spread her legs to allow him to slip between them.

"I'll buy you another pair." Harry's hand dropped between their bodies, taking over her hold on his cock and he dropped his eyes to watch as he swiped his head through her folds, gathering her moisture across the flared tip of his cock before he lined himself up at her core.

"You'd better," Hermione breathed, her body practically vibrating with need for him as one hand braced herself against the countertop while the other rested on his shoulder for support. Her eyes fluttered shut as she felt him push inside her slowly, drawing out the moment until he was fully sheathed in her warmth.

"Fuck, you feel good." Harry's head dropped until his forehead rested against her own, the tip of his nose brushing lightly against hers as he held himself deep inside her, relishing the warmth that radiated over his body from where they were connected.

"Please," she whispered when she could no longer take it, her hips trying to rock against his, trying desperately to create friction to ease the ache deep inside her core. "Fuck me, Harry."

He wasted no more time, instead setting a deep, slow rhythm that made her toes curl each time he bottomed out inside her. Her lips found his shortly after the pace was set, her hand winding into his hair, holding him to her as his tongue swept into her mouth.

Each snap of his hips drove her closer toward the edge of a cliff she longed to throw herself off. The familiar tension coiled low in her belly, winding tighter and tighter but never quite reaching that point of no return.

Soon her moans of his name turned to pleas for him to get her to the finish line. Commands slipped from her tongue, urging him to go faster and harder until the only sound she could hear was the sound of skin slapping hers as he drove into her at a brutal pace.

His hands held her thighs spread wide, his thumbs digging into the sensitive skin on the back of her knees as he pistoned in and out of her. She knew he was close, his breath becoming erratic and wild.

Without prompting or encouragement, her hand left the countertop and dipped between their bodies where she pressed two fingers against her clit, rubbing small circles, manipulating her pleasure until she tumbled over the cliff into oblivion.

His name was shouted into her flat as the drudging waves of climax took ahold of her senses. She could feel her pussy spasm around his thick cock, trying to hold onto something like she did his shoulders, anchoring herself to this world so she did not float away.

Her head tipped back, and it hit her cupboard with a loud crack, but neither seemed to acknowledge the accident as he found his own climax, spilling his seed deep inside her body.

Harry dropped his forehead to her shoulder, his sweat dripping onto her skin as he panted into her chest, his cock still deep inside her body, enjoying the small spasms that ran through her cunt.

"Mione?" he breathed, finally breaking the comfortable silence that lingered between the two post-coitus.

"Yeah?" she replied breathlessly, her fingers idly running through the hair on the back of his head, her eyes still closed. Hours earlier she'd promised herself she would never allow this to happen again, yet here she sat, her legs spread lewdly on her kitchen counter with his cock still deep inside her. Logically she knew she should be upset with herself, but for some reason she couldn't find it within herself to care.

"Let's not stop," Harry suggested as he lifted his head, half-lidded bespeckled eyes twinkling at her in the soft light. "Because this...is too bloody good."

Hermione laughed, her nose wrinkling as she cracked open her eyes to look up at him, her fingertips twisting a small patch of his hair before she ran her hand down the side of his neck to the center of his chest where she pushed very gently until his cock slipped from her body. "Okay. But you still owe me new trousers."

* * *

_1\. No Kissing_  
_2\. No One Knows_  
3\. No Sleepovers  
4\. No Cuddling  
5\. No Romance  
6\. No Expectations  
7\. No Asking About The Other Person's Dates  
8\. No Jealousy  
9\. No Going on Dates with Each other  
10\. No Falling in Love


	4. Chapter 4

"I was able to locate evidence of bonding rituals being used by mermaids dating back as far as 400 AD in the book sent by the Roman Ministry. If my translation is right, this could change what we assumed we knew about mermaid customs." Hermione laid her fork on her napkin, lining the prongs up with the top edge, using the methodical alignment as a means to calm herself down. Minerva had always told her she tended to speak too quickly when she was excited.

Across the table, her mentor peered at her curiously over the rim of her thin wire-frame spectacles, her manicured brow arching as she took a small bite of her Kidney pie. "But would the text not refer specifically to the Mediterranean's mermaids?" Minerva questioned after thoughtfully chewing the modest bite. "Surely the similarities found between the species in Rome and the ones you've been studying around the Isle of Man are quite limited."

Hermione had begun meeting up for regular luncheons with her former Professor shortly after the war. At first she assumed it was because the elderly witch felt obligated to keep tabs on her since the news of her Obliviating of her parents spread, but as their monthly meetings increased to a weekly interval, she quickly realized that despite their vast age difference, Minerva considered her a friend, not just an obligation, and was genuinely interested in her life.

"I thought so too at first. The ocean temperatures alone are enough to change the ecosystem entirely, however I cross-referenced the source material we have in Newt Scamander's journals on Mer-History and was able to determine that the Isle of Man colony are direct descendants from Merfolk of the Mediterranean. Which, fascinatingly enough, can provide a direct lineage back to Atlantis."

"Atlantis?" Minerva's brows rose in surprise. "But that would mean they are capable of performing magic. There has not been any evidence that would point to Merfolk possessing the ability to harness the arcane."

"Ah! But there has been!" Hermione said excitedly, her eyes sparkling in the low light as she leaned into the table, planting her elbows on the soft wood. "You see, the Roman text is just the tip of the iceberg. I believe I was able to locate a Norse anthology on Merfolk that is rumored to contain references to Merfolk and Wizardkind intermarrying as far back as 300 AD. I have been corresponding with the Norwegian Ministry's librarian, but the book is quite old and heavily warded to protect it from disintegrating."

"Marrying? My word, that would—" Minerva began, her own excitement regarding the topic evident in the lift in her tone, but before she could get too far, a warm mug of butterbeer was set directly in the middle of the table, blocking her view of Hermione.

"Sorry about the wait, Professor." Dean Thomas had begun helping Madam Rosmerta with the day-to-day business of running Three Broomsticks shortly after completing his eighth year. Having gone through a similar situation as Hermione during the final year of the war, Dean had moved in with his on- and off-again boyfriend's family as a means of protecting his mother, step-father and siblings from unwanted attention from Death Eaters. In order to earn some extra income—and not think about the strain his decisions placed upon his relationship with his family-Dean took the job on a temporary basis, telling his friends it would only last until something better came along. Which had yet to happen, clearly. "Rosie must have forgot the Sherry on our last order. I was able to find a bottle, but it was tucked away in the back corner of the cellar."

Minerva looked up, an affectionate smile lifting the corner of her lips ever so slightly as she reached out to take the glass from her old pupil. "It's quite alright, Dean. I appreciate your effort. And please, call me Minerva. It has been a number of years since I stood in front of a class."

"Ah, but you'll always be _our_ professor, isn't that right Hermione?" Dean said with a charming smile, tucking the round tray under his arm.

Hermione shrugged, licking the froth from her upper lip as she set her mug back down in front of her. "I actually call Minerva by her given name. But it did take a while," Hermione admitted.

"Suck up," Dean whispered to her, loud enough for Minerva to hear, who couldn't help but let out a short, jovial laugh at the pair. "Anyways, how are you two ladies doing? I'm surprised to see you in here on a Wednesday night. Don't you two normally meet up on Fridays?"

"Normally, yes. But Minerva is otherwise disposed this upcoming Friday," Hermione said, cutting a look to the witch who instantly straightened at her words. "She's meeting a wizard for after-dinner drinks."

"Professor!" Dean gasped, putting a hand on the center of his chest as he leaned into the table, acting like he needed it for support. "After-dinner drinks? How scandalous."

Minerva crimsoned, her lips thinning as she adjusted her napkin in her lap. "There is nothing untoward about my plans with Mr. Davies. He requested my assistance with some paperwork regarding the Practical Potioneer's apprenticeship program. As Headmistress it is my duty to attend the meeting."

"And this meeting couldn't have occurred during normal business hours?" Hermione wagged her brows at the older witch playfully before picking up her fork and taking a small bite of her roasted chicken.

"I am uncertain of his availability. He asked me to come after dinner, and I agreed, as I find myself busy taking care of students who are making attempts to live up to _your generation's_ tom-foolery." Minerva replied crisply before picking up her wine glass to take a sip.

Dean's smile widened so deeply that wrinkles began to form at the corner of his eyes. "Don't try to turn this around on us, Professor. You are a grown witch who is completely within her right to date–or meet for dinner drinks with a wizard should she so choose."

"Agreed. You are seventy years old—"

"Seventy-one," Minerva corrected Hermione pointedly.

"Seventy-one, my apologies. Our teasing meant no ill intent. I, for one, am excited to see you willing to put yourself out there again," Hermione finished with a soft smile as she looked across the table at Minerva, who blushed under the praise, waving her hand towards her as if to bat off the compliments.

Just as Dean opened his mouth to add on his own words of support, the sound of Rosmerta calling for him filled the barroom. Dean looked over his shoulder and held up a single finger towards his boss to indicate he would be there in just a moment. "As much as I want to stay and find out more information about this Mr. Davies, I'm afraid duty calls," Dean said after looking back at their former Professor and her. "Thirsty customers tonight, and I'm afraid someone's got to bring them their drinks."

"It's always a pleasure to see you Dean. Feel free to stop by my office any time should you want to catch up," Minerva said, reaching out and placing a wrinkled hand on her former student's arm and giving it a soft squeeze.

"It was good seeing you Dean. We really should chat soon," Hermione said. It had been ages since she'd so much as talked to her former classmate. Sure, she saw his other half often, but Seamus and he were not really a part of their inner circle. She certainly didn't only associate with Harry and Ron anymore, but it was hard to break out of that small circle when their celebrity followed them everywhere they went.

"Absolutely. I'll owl you," Dean agreed, leaning down to press a chaste kiss on her cheek as a goodbye. He began to turn away from the table to make his way towards the bar before pausing halfway, and he looked back at Hermione. "Oh, tell Harry hello for me, would you? I know you two are still seeing each other regularly from what Seamus says."

Hermione, who had been moments away from taking another bite of her chicken, froze with her fork hovering in the air. What he said wasn't the issue, as of course she did see Harry regularly. Everyone knew he was her best friend. But the lilt to his voice hinted at him knowing more than just that.

"What?" she said with a nervous laugh, glancing to Minerva out of the corner of her eye before back at Dean, who was looking more and more like the kneazle that ate the canary by the second. "I mean…He's my best friend, so of course we're seeing each other regularly. What an odd way to phrase that."

Dean's brow rose, his head cocking to the side just slightly enough to convey that he knew exactly what was occurring between Harry and her. "Right. That's what you two call it?" he questioned with a knowing smirk. "Best friends. Sure. Well, tell your _best friend_ hello." Dean gave her a wink, before turning around to move back towards the bar to exchange his empty tray for a new one that held drinks that needed to be served.

Hermione could feel her cheeks crimson, her hand that curled around her fork shaking with brimming embarrassment. She wasn't certain of a lot of things in this moment, but there was absolutely one thing she was positive about.

She was going to hex Harry.

Setting down her fork quickly, Hermione reached up to tuck her curls behind her ears, turning her attention back to Minerva, who was giving her a look over her glasses that let her know the elderly witch knew _exactly_ what Dean was implying seconds earlier.

Fuck. She was going to have to hex Seamus too! How bloody stupid could Harry be?

He wasn't supposed to tell _anyone_, but why did the person he decided to break their rule with have to be bloody Seamus 'Blabber Mouth' Finnigan? The same bloody wizard who told the entire sixth year class when he caught wind of Neville snogging Luna. The same wizard who _accidentally_ told Professor Flitwick when Fred and George charmed Malfoy's chair to tie his shoelaces together third year. The same fucking wizard who told The Prophet about the time her teeth had magically enlarged until she looked like a bloody beaver.

"I can explain. It's not what you think," Hermione lied, scrambling to find an explanation. Perhaps she could say they were just kissing? Practicing snogging for their future partners. Or maybe she could say that it was just a misunderstanding. Dean heard sleeping together, but really they were skiing together!

"What _I_ think," Minerva said as she cut herself a small piece of her kidney pie, averting her eyes back down to her plate of food. "Is that the evidence you've found regarding Wizard and Mermaid liaisons is quite impressive. Should you be able to provide proof of what you're claiming—that Merfolk not only possess the ability to harness magic, but they have a complex society involving teaching their young, then you, my dear, are going to reclassify their species from creature to intelligent beings."

Hermione's brows knit as her thoughts of how she could possibly explain what was going on to her mentor came to a screeching halt. Her mouth opened and closed what felt like several times before she let out a quick puff of breath through her nostrils, watching as Minerva ate her dinner without any indication that she was going to press into the revelation Dean so hastily shared.

She knew. Minerva bloody well knew what was going on between her and Harry. How could she not? She was a young witch once. Surely this little arrangement wasn't original. But instead of voicing her concern, she was playing naïve. Something Hermione had never _ever_ known her to do.

Licking her bottom lip, Hermione gave a short nod before she dropped her eyes to look at her roasted chicken and mashed potatoes. She awkwardly nudged the food around her plate as she tried to wrap her head around this concept of Minerva being slyly supportive of Hermione's less-than-proper relationship status with Harry. "That is…uh—That is my goal. I've already started a preliminary draft on the regulation changes for the Wizengamot."

Minerva gave a short nod, setting her fork down on the side of her plate and lifting her napkin to dab at the corners of her mouth before she set it over her plate to indicate she was finished. "Well, should you need an extra set of eyes for review, I always have room in my schedule to assist."

* * *

Harry wanted a nap.

No, correction. Harry _needed_ a nap.

He had been out until three in the morning the night before tracking down an illegal House Elf boxing ring coordinator. Apparently, criminals and the depraved did not find it in their best interest to keep regular business hours.

Tipping back in his chair, he took a sip of his fourth cup of coffee for the day, his hands curling around the warmed mug, and he let his eyes drift closed. The office was quiet. Seamus was out with the new trainees—or baby Aurors as the Irish wizard had taken to calling them. Bennett and Ambrose were in Wales. Pulsifer was still out on maternity leave, which meant Orry was likely taking the day off.

With his entire team otherwise indisposed, Harry was allowing himself a moment to just enjoy the calm that was so rare in his office. His hand lowered, setting his mug down on his thigh as his head tipped back, the beginnings of slumber beckoning him to take just a small nap.

Just as he got comfortable in his chair, the warmth from his coffee radiating into skin, his office door burst open, nearly knocking his blinds off their hinges at it slammed into the opposite wall.

"You told!" Hermione shouted.

Harry jolted upright, splashing coffee across his lap before his mug tumbled to the floor. "Merlin's cock! What the fuck Hermione!" Harry shouted, standing up as he tried to brush the scalding liquid from his trousers.

"What the fuck is right, Harry." Hermione didn't even bother closing the door behind her as she stalked across his office, her wand gripped tightly in her palm. "You told Seamus!"

Picking up his wand from his desk, Harry cast a quick drying spell on his trousers before he vanished the mess from his floor. He eyed the stain on his pants with a small grimace. Of all days to wear khaki, this had to be the day Hermione lost her gods damned mind and burst into his office like a Hippogriff in heat.

"Don't you ignore me, Harry James Potter! So help me I will hex you to oblivion. I don't care if you're an Auror or not." Hermione moved around his desk, edging her way between him and the furniture and she pushed a finger against chest. "You told!"

"What on earth are you talking about?" Harry rushed out, taking a step back from her as his brow furrowed.

"You told Seamus about—" taking a moment to pause, Hermione looked over her shoulder towards the workspace outside Harry's private office, making sure the coast was still clear before she turned back around to continue. "—about our arrangement."

"Bloody hell," Harry sighed, his hand going to his face slipping his thumb and index finger beneath his glasses and pressing them against his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose. "That Irish fuck can't keep his bloody mouth closed, can he?"

"Clearly not!" Hermione said with an exasperated sigh. "You know he's bloody shite at secrets! You might as well have sent an owl out announcing it to everyone."

"I'm sorry! I didn't think he'd fucking tell. I was just…I dunno, discussing our dilemma," Harry tried to explain as he lowered himself back down in his chair. While yes, Seamus wasn't the best keeper of secrets he knew, he trusted the wizard. They'd gone on too many missions together now and had put faith in each other's hands numerous times. If this was something life or death, he knew Seamus would have taken it to the grave. But this was just shagging, after all. "Who else knows?"

"Dean." Hermione leaned back on his desk, her skirt shifting up her thighs a bit.

Harry's eyes instinctively dropped to her legs, eyeing the newly exposed skin on her thighs with a subtle hunger. "Well obviously Dean knows, they're dating."

Hermione gave a small noise in indignation as she crossed her arms over her bust, her heel tapping lightly against the tiled floor as she pursed her lips. "Minerva."

Harry's head snapped up, his eyes widening and his brows nearly hit his hairline. "McGonagall!?"

"Do you know another Minerva?" Hermione lifted a single brow, her head cocking to the side.

Harry leaned back in his chair, his hand moving to ruffle the hairs atop his head, his fingers twisting the locks into small untidy peaks as he tried to fathom why his friend would feel it necessary to inform their old Head of House. Harry knew he enjoyed a bit of gossip, but surely that was excessive. Even for him. "Why the hell would Seamus tell Professor McGonagall?"

Hermione rolled her eyes before closing them, her nostrils flaring as she took a deep breath. "You're an Auror Harry. You're supposed to be protecting the Wizarding World from dark wizards and criminals, and you think Seamus told Minerva?" Hermione slowly opened her eyes, shaking her head so that some of the curls that had once sat loosely on the back of her head in a clip spilled free. "Seamus didn't bloody tell, you idiot. I was having lunch with Minerva and Dean mentioned something without being specific, but it was quite obvious Minerva knew what he meant."

"But don't you meet up with her on Fridays?"

"Oh sweet merciful Merlin, do I have to run my schedule changes by you now too?" Hermione said as she threw her arms in the air with a sign. "We met earlier in the week. She had other plans on Friday. Look, this is entirely irrelevant because you told the one person on this bloody island who can't keep a secret!"

"It wasn't like I Floo-called him immediately afterwards to tell him. We were just chatting in the office and it came up."

"_It _came up? How on earth does 'Hey, I've made an arrangement to shag my best friend' just happen to come up?" Hermione snapped. She dropped her hands to her sides, letting them press against the wooden surface of his desk as she leaned back more, taking her weight off her heels.

"Because he made a smart comment about the real reason I was upset about him not turning in assigned reports on time was because I hadn't gotten laid in a while." Harry sat up in his chair, reaching to his throat to pop open the button on his oxford before tugging on his collar to loosen it. "He said I needed to use my celebrity and go bag a witch from the Leaky and take the stick out of my arse. I couldn't very well let him get away with that, could I?"

"So you told him we were shagging as a means of stroking your ego?" Hermione dead panned.

"No! It wasn't—"

"You know what?" Hermione cut him off, lifting her hand to silence Harry. "Doesn't bloody matter, does it? Because he knows now, doesn't he? Which means he told Dean, who told Neville and Susan. Who will likely tell Hannah, who will tell Luna, who will tell Ron and Ginny. So basically everyone we know is going to be completely aware of what we are doing in about three days' time. If not sooner, considering now Minerva knows, which means she might get to Luna before Hannah."

"Fuck," Harry whispered at the reality set in. He hadn't meant to share their arrangement with everyone. He'd told one bloody person. "I'm going to kill him."

"Don't bother. Where is the leprechaun? I'm going to do it myself," Hermione said as she pushed off Harry's desk, slipping her heels back on her feet as she hit the ground. She turned to look over her shoulder towards the empty workspace curiously.

"He's in the Highlands for the next few days with our new hires. Tracking some Voodoo witch doctor selling cursed trinkets to Muggles," Harry explained, his thumb running across his stubbled jawline as his eyes dropped to watch Hermione's backside as she moved towards his door, appreciating the tight skirts she wore in an entirely new fashion than before.

"Hm…and the rest of your team?" she questioned curiously, tapping a finger against the frame of his door as she popped her head out of his office.

"Out. It's just me today." Harry stood from his desk, his hands adjusting his oxford to tuck it into his trousers as he moved up behind her. While previously he might have viewed this free time as an extra day out of the office, now that he was a lieutenant, he had other obligations to keep him stuck at work instead of at home catching up on some much needed sleep.

Harry watched as Hermione's face split with a slow smirk. He watched in silence as her plans began to swirl behind her eyes, causing them to twinkle mischievously with a look he had not seen in a very long time. "What?"

Hermione didn't answer. Instead she reached out and snagged his hand, tugging Harry after her as she moved out into the middle of his Aurors' workspace. She lifted her wand toward the door to his section and with a flick it slammed shut. Spell after spell was directed toward the door, wisps of smoky blue and green magic enveloping the door as she cast.

"Wards?" Harry allowed himself to be pulled after her until they'd made it into the middle of the room and he pulled her to a stop, physically turning her back towards him. "What are you doing?"

"Warding your section," Hermione replied plainly, twisting her wand between her fingertips with a smirk sharp enough to hurt. "Obviously."

"I can see that, care to explain why?" Harry didn't bother pulling his hand away from hers; instead he laced their fingers together—more out of habit than affection- at least that's what he told himself.

"Because," Hermione said with an innocent shrug before letting her eyes drop over his shoulder, surveying the desks just behind him. "You're going to shag me on Seamus' desk and I'd rather not be interrupted."

"W-What?!" Harry choked on his own spit, coughing as he tried to clear his lungs of their spasm.

Hermione looked back to him with a laugh and she tucked her wand into the messy bun on the back of her head, just beneath the clip that held her curls together. "You heard me." She brought her hands to the bottom of her blouse where it tucked into her skirt and she began to tug it loose before pulling it over her head, and she let it drop to the floor casually. "Payback. If he wants to run his mouth about our arrangement, then he can sit at his desk every bloody day knowing my arse has been on it."

Harry's eyes dropped and he licked his bottom lip. She was wearing a lace cream coloured bra, sheer enough to where he could see the dark pink of her nipples through the fabric. Merlin, if she chose a matching pair of knickers, then he might actually start praying to the old gods.

"So…are you going to tell me which desk is his or should I start checking name plates?"

* * *

_1\. No Kissing_  
_2\. No One Knows_  
3\. No Sleepovers  
4\. No Cuddling  
5\. No Romance  
6\. No Expectations  
7\. No Asking About The Other Person's Dates  
8\. No Jealousy  
9\. No Going on Dates with Each other  
10\. No Falling in Love


	5. Chapter 5

The rain pounded against the only window her tiny flat contained, echoing the sound of the spring storm through her kitchen and living room.

Harry had been gone nearly a week, and while she wasn't supposed to miss him more than she normally would, she would be lying if she didn't admit he had become a somewhat permanent fixture in her life as of late.

They were nearly a month into their new arrangement, and she found herself craving his company. It wasn't just the sex—which was exceptionally amazing now that they'd figured out each other's likes and dislikes, thank you very much. It was more. The companionship he offered. The way that at the end of a really shite day at work she could text him, asking him to pop by with a bag of burgers and bottle of wine and he wouldn't judge as she stuffed her face before they'd shag her stress away.

He didn't care if she was makeup free and in her pajamas. He didn't judge if her hair was a mess and she hadn't showered that morning. She didn't feel the need to impress him—after all, it was just shagging and he was still just Harry to her, wasn't he?

Those nights still typically resulted in a full belly, several mind-numbing orgasms and a sedated libido that was purring happily inside her like a kneazel who'd gotten a good belly rub. Those were the nights she was exceptionally thankful for their new arrangement, even if they did end with her curling up in her bed alone—unless one could count a big ball of fluff as a companion, which she certainly did not.

Crookshanks was good for many things: meowing exceptionally loud in the middle of the night, catching mice, and waking her up at seven in the morning on the weekends for his breakfast. But snuggling was not exactly in his repertoire.

The feline in question was crunching noisily on the kibble she'd just set on his plate, the sound barely audible over the spring storm that had just rolled in. Hermione stood in her kitchen, dressed only in a pair of gray cotton knickers and an old Quidditch jersey of Harry's she'd stolen years prior. She still despised the sport, but even she could admit the attire was rather comfortable.

The bottom of the jersey hit her at her upper thighs, brushing softly across her skin as she lifted a steaming mug of tea to her lips, and she took a small sip, not even looking up from the book she had cracked open on the counter.

She had picked up the newest book from what was becoming one of her favorite Muggle authors earlier this week while in London. This latest release was a historical fiction piece written about Queen Elizabeth I. While this particular book was not as well written as the other novels she had read by the budding author, she couldn't help but find herself captivated by the poetic descriptions of the royal court.

Her hip pressed into the counter as she laid her book down on the surface, not pulling her eyes from the words that had consumed her since she opened the book nearly four hours prior. She reached her hand out, groping blindly for her wand before finally locating the smooth piece of vine wood, picking it up off the counter and placing it between her lips before she gathered her curls into a small twist on the back of her head. With one hand securing the twist, she plucked her wand from her mouth and used it to secure them in place.

The clock on her mantle rang ten times, vaguely reminding her that she would need to find a good stopping place soon if she planned on making it to brunch tomorrow with Ginny and Luna. But then again, it was _only_ ten. She didn't need to be at the restaurant until ten the next morning. She could function on six hours of sleep, which meant, by her calculations, she had another hour or two to find a better stopping point.

Leaning over the counter, she slid her book across the surface, closer to her as she found a comfortable leaning position. Her elbows rested on the granite, holding her chin aloft as she cocked her head to the side while she read.

Her dinner—if that's what one could call the half-eaten toast and hard boiled egg-sat beside her on the counter, barely touched. It wasn't that Hermione didn't enjoy cooking, nor that she didn't know how. On the contrary, she was an excellent cook. She just found it rather obtuse to cook extravagant meals for just herself. She hated the waste, and with Harry gone, she didn't have someone to pawn off her leftovers on.

Lifting her mug to her lips once more, Hermione took a slow sip of her tea, letting the hot liquid warm her bones. And just as she moved to set her mug back on the counter, the sound of her Floo activating pulled her concentration from her book.

Pushing up off the counter, Hermione turned toward her living room, her brow furrowing as she looked at her fireplace. Her mind couldn't help but wonder who would be on the other side. Very few people had direct access to her Floo—Ron, Luna, Ginny, the Weasleys, Harry. But it was late at night, and she didn't expect any of them to pop in for a late-night visit. Which meant whoever was on the other side either desperately needed her—which was going to make it rather awkward that she wasn't wearing any trousers.

Or, quite possibly, the Ministry had a breach on her Floo access yet again, and she'd find herself face to face with an overly enthusiastic fan in about ten seconds.

Bracing herself for either possibility, Hermione tugged down the hem of Harry's old Quidditch jersey, praying the ostentatious gold and crimson would cover the rather whimsical pair of pink flamingo knickers she was wearing.

But instead of a rabid fan, or a Weasley, a sight for sore eyes walked through.

"Harry?"

He was still wearing his Auror robes , the long, military style trench coat unbuttoned, revealing the tactical trousers and shirt he wore beneath. His hair was untidier than usual, and if the deep blue-black bags under his eyes were any indication, he likely had not gotten an ounce of sleep during the week he'd been gone.

In one hand he held a white takeout bag with red writing, _'Crust and Crumb. Magically Delicious',_ and in the other, a bottle of wine. He turned towards her voice, squinting in the darkness towards her. "Mione?"

"What are you doing here?" Shoving the well-worn receipt she'd been using as her bookmark for the past three years into her book, Hermione flicked it shut.

Kicking his boots against her hearth, Harry knocked the dust from them before stepping onto her carpet. He moved towards her coffee table, setting the takeout bag and wine down carefully before he turned to face her, a crooked grin hinting on his lips. "I just got back—"

"Clearly," Hermione interrupted, a hand raising to wave off whatever silly explanation he was going to give about making it back to England in one piece. She moved across the living room, his jersey ghosting along her upper thighs. Once within arm's reach, she wrapped hers around his middle, sliding them beneath his coat, and she locked them against his back as she pulled him close in a warm hug.

While she was not going to deny that his work separating them for a week put a small damper on their arrangement, she was more happy that he had returned. At the end of the day, Harry was still her friend before her lover. Every time he left on a mission, a part of her worried endlessly until she could lay eyes on him again. "Not that I'm not glad you're here, but what are you doing here? It's ten…and you look awful–no offence."

Harry's warm arm wrapped around her shoulders, one hand sliding to the back of her head, cradling her cheek against his chest while the other rested on her spine. His eyes drifted shut and he took a slow, deep breath. "Seamus went home to Dean and…and I just didn't want to be alone tonight. It was—the mission…Merlin, Hermione, it was so—"

Hermione tipped her head up, her chin resting over his heart and her eyes softened as she watched him struggle to find the words, his eyes already glistening with tears. His job was hard. He dealt with wizards and witches that most wouldn't dare approach. He faced countless horrors for the sake of protecting their society. She didn't need to know the specifics to understand that whatever they'd come across this weekend was not for the faint of heart.

"Hey, it's okay…" Lifting her hand, she pressed her finger to his lips, cutting his words short, and she gave him a soft smile before removing her finger from his lips and running it across his stubbled cheek. "We don't have to talk about it."

Harry nodded, his eyes drifting closed as he leaned into her touch, his face nuzzling against her palm in a way that both excited and frightened her. This longing she felt for him all week was beyond the normal constraints of their friendship. She wouldn't admit it earlier, but now? Seeing him like this, feeling his need for affection and love, she couldn't deny the butterflies that bloomed to life low in her gut.

"What can I do?" Hermione whispered, her thumb brushing across his lower lip softly, tracing the outline.

Harry smiled, his eyes opening as he nipped at her thumb, his hand on her back applying just enough pressure to cause her body to mold into his. "Let me take care of you," he whispered, his eyes dropping to her lips, and running down her throat to take in her appearance.

She could feel her skin burn under his gaze. When his fingers trailed down her spine, ghosting across her arse until he could toy with the hem of his old jersey, she felt her pulse quicken in response. "Harry, I don't know…"

"Please, Mione." His eyes dragged up back to hers, already dark with longing.

How could she say no? Whatever hell he'd witnessed needed exorcising from his memory, and who was she to tell him how to cleanse his soul? Especially when she had missed him so fucking much.

Leaning up on her painted toes, Hermione slotted her mouth against his in response. Her hands grabbed the lapels of his coat and she pushed it over his broad shoulders and guided it down his arms until it fell free from his body at their feet.

His tongue ran along the seam of her lips, asking permission to delve into her mouth and she happily complied. Her tongue brushed against his, her head tilting to the side under guidance from his hand that wound into her curls, causing her wand to twist askew.

Her fingers brushed across the exposed skin of his throat as she made her way to the row of buttons that held his shirt together. Her fingers moved quickly to unbutton the garment that was blocking her from reaching more of his skin, before she finally pushed it from his body too, forgotten on the floor with his outer robe.

Harry broke their kiss, his teeth nipping at the tip of her tongue as he pulled her wand from her curls and tossed it on the couch behind him, before his fingers twisted the length of her curls around his fingers and he gave them a soft tug until her throat was bared to him.

Her back arched, pressing her breasts firmly against him, her eyes fluttering closed as he began to press open-mouthed kisses across the column of her throat. Her hands caressed his chest, sliding through the coarse dark hair that peppered his pectorals, and she pinched his nipples encouragingly as she arched further into him.

"You look," he murmured against her skin, his tongue running over the pink scar that ran from the base of her neck and across her shoulder. "So bloody sexy…in my old…jersey."

She didn't bother to suppress the lascivious grin, his words like adding petrol to a roaring fire, she felt a rush of moisture bloom in her knickers, causing her to press her thighs together. "What's underneath is even better."

Harry let out a growl, his chest rumbling against hers before his teeth sank into the cap of her shoulder for a quick nip. Pulling his fingers from her hair, his hands ran down her body to cup her arse, and in one swift movement Hermione was pulled off her feet and Harry turned to pin her to the couch, sinking down onto his knees between her parted thighs.

With his lips still working across the skin he could access through the loose collar of the jersey, Harry kissed down the center of her chest, his hands snaking up her thighs and he hooked his fingers into the side of her knickers before quickly pulling them down her legs.

Hermione lifted her hips, helping him with his quest of ridding her of her clothing, but when her hands went to the bottom of the jersey, beginning to pull it off, a firm command stopped her in her tracks.

"Don't," he growled, pulling back just enough to look her in the eye. "Leave it on."

Hermione gulped, her hands trembling as she gave him a slow nod. The look he gave her, like she was a drink and he a man who wandered for thousands of miles in the desert, was enough to make her thankful she wasn't standing, for her knees would have buckled under the weight. His pupils were already blown wide with lust, dark and consuming as he looked at her while sinking lower onto the floor.

He slipped her knickers off her feet, and instead of tossing them behind him where the rest of his clothes lay, Harry stuffed them into the pocket of his trousers without explanation. Hermione let out a stuttered breath, her thighs pressing together to prevent the gush of liquid that pooled between them from dribbling across her thighs as her mind swirled with the thoughts of what he planned to do with them later.

Harry's hands wrapped around each of her ankles, and he positioned them wide on the edge of the couch cushion, planting them firmly in place before his hands raked up her legs to her thighs, where he slowly parted her until she was laid bare to him.

Hermione's eyes slammed closed in anticipation, her body practically vibrating with need. Seven days. He had only been gone seven bloody days, but it felt like an eternity. This was supposed to be casual. It was supposed to be just shagging, but as she sat there on her couch, her legs lewdly spread and Harry's breath ghosting across her pussy, causing it to clench in anticipation, she knew she'd lost the war of hearts.

Without further teasing, Harry's mouth descended to her cunt, the flat of his tongue burrowing between her folds to press slow, long licks against her clit. Thoughts of how fucked she was for falling for Harry vanished instantly, and instead she found herself focusing entirely on what he was doing to her body.

Her right hand moved into his hair, gripping it tightly as she rocked into his mouth as breathy moans and gasps of his name filled her tiny living room. Her left hand moved to her own head, holding her curls back from her face as she looked down, watching him lap at her pussy with a ravenous hunger.

They had only been in their arrangement for a couple weeks, but in that short amount of time he'd gone from knowing nothing about her body, to knowing her like the back of his hand. Each flick of his tongue and nip of his teeth was delivered at the precise time it was needed. It was almost as if he could feel her mind, knowing exactly what she needed before she could even register it herself.

The coil tightened low in her belly, pulling so taut her thighs quaked under the pressure. Arching her back off the couch, Hermione tipped her head back, her teeth chewing on her bottom lip as she fought off her orgasm, wanting to drag out this bliss for as long as possible. "H-Harry," she cried his name, gulping as she looked back down to him, her hand pulling at his hair until his dislodged his lips from her dripping cunt.

His eyes were glassy under his askew frames, his lips swollen and glistening with her essence. If she could cum on looks alone, she was sure she would have toppled over the edge at just his appearance. She wanted this—him—so fucking badly, but tonight wasn't about her, was it?

_He_ needed her. _He_ needed to be taken care of, no matter what he said.

Dropping her feet to the floor, Hermione leaned forward and caught his lips in a bruising kiss, her tongue slipping into his mouth, and the mixture of his intoxicating kiss and the musky sweet of her juices sent pulsing waves of pleasure straight to her core.

She pulled him with her onto the couch, her arms around his neck, guiding him until he pressed a knee on the cushion just between her legs. Guiding him to where she wanted, Hermione pushed him onto the furniture beside her before she broke their frantic kiss.

"Trousers off," she instructed, eyes dropping to look at his tenting waistline before she looked back up to his eyes, letting him know under no circumstances was he allowed to disobey.

Harry made quick work of his trousers. His fingers unclasped the woven belt and he hastily unbuttoned them before pushing the fabric down his legs where he kicked them off, boots and all until he sat as naked as she was.

His cock was hard, already red and sweeping against his lower abdomen when she crawled across the couch to him and straddled his thighs. She felt his hands find her waist, his fingers curling into her hip bones, causing a shiver of anticipation to run down her spine.

Reaching out with her left hand, she tipped his chin up until their gazes met. Her hand ran down his throat, over his Adam's apple before curling around his shoulder for support while her right moved to the base of his cock where she grasped his shaft. Her thighs trembled as she rose up to a tall kneel, and she scooted closer until she could sweep the head of his cock through her folds, coating him in her slick until she pressed the flared tip of his manhood at her entrance.

She heard his breath hitch and watched his eyes flutter at the sensation as she sank down, taking him within her body until he was fully sheathed inside her. Her body ached, stretching to accommodate his size in this new position.

"Fuck," Harry hissed, his fingers digging into her hips as she began to slowly roll her hips in small circles, keeping him deep inside her as she lost herself in the pleasure of having him fill her.

She felt his grip on her hips lift her just enough to allow him to begin to rock into her in short, shallow thrusts that stole her breath, but as fucking amazing as they felt, she shook her head, leaning down to brush her mouth across his. "Don't," she whined, despite the tingles of pleasure that ran through her body. "I want to."

Harry didn't argue. Thank fucking Merlin for that, because if he had, she might have given in. Instead, his hands loosened their hold, sliding across her hips and over her body until he cupped her arse with two large handfuls.

It took another moment for her to fully adjust to having him inside her, but once the twinge of pain from the stretch subsided into a dull tingle, Hermione set the pace. She moved slowly, her hips rising and falling over his in a slow lazy rhythm that matched the falling rain outside her flat.

Her moans were light and breathy, ghosting over his skin as she clung to him, using him as support in her efforts to bring him pleasure. His lips worked across the skin on her breasts and throat, mouthing silent words of encouragement into her body as he left a trail of love bites she was sure she would have to charm the next day.

The coil in her belly returned with a vengeance, causing every molecule in her body to scream for relief as she rode his cock. Her forehead pressed into his, her nose nudging his with every fall of her hips as she fought off her orgasm, her thighs burning from exertion. This was normally where she'd tap out. Where she'd tell her partner to take over, but she couldn't. Not after seeing that look in his eye.

He needed her, just as badly as she needed him.

His fingers bit into her arse with a bruising grip that she knew was going to leave Harry-sized prints embedded into her skin for the next week. His lips paused at the pulse point on her throat as he rocked up into her, letting her pace guide his movement. "Don't stop," he breathed into her ear, his voice low and gravelly, like a man barely hanging on by a thread.

Hermione's arms slipped around his neck, pulling herself into his orbit until her breasts brushed against the hair on his chest as she rocked into him, doubling her efforts to bring him the mind-numbing bliss he so clearly needed.

His face tucked into her neck, his lips wrapping around the sensitive skin on the junction of her throat and shoulder, and just as she didn't think she could hold off her own orgasm that she had been teetering on the edge of for what felt like hours at this point, she felt his body tense and his cock pulse inside her with his release.

She heard him moan her name but it barely registered as she allowed herself to follow his lead. Fire exploded inside her body, reverberating down every limb and digit until she could feel her fingers tremble with the drudging waves of her orgasm. Her head tipped back as she arched into him, her hips rolling in short circles, grinding her clit against his pelvis to draw out both of their pleasures until she fell boneless against his chest, her cheek pressing against his sweaty shoulder.

They sat in silence with only the noise of their heavy breathing and the summer storm acting as their soundtrack. Hermione didn't know when he'd started to move, but before she could register what was happening, Harry withdrew his softening cock from her and pulled her down with him as he fell to lay on the couch.

He molded his body to hers, his face hidden in the thick mane of her curls as he nuzzled against her neck, a hand trailing up and down her spine in a soothing pattern that made his touch feel less like a friend, and more like a lover.

Her hands rose, petting his unruly black hair back on his head before she leaned down to press a gentle kiss on his crown, her nose brushing across his scalp as she inhaled the scent that was uniquely Harry. Clipped grass, oiled leather, and a faint hint of peppermint. Even before whatever the hell it was that they were doing started, his scent brought a calm to her soul that she could barely explain. It was why she stole his jersey, and on those nights she went over to Grimmauld Place to shag him, she allowed herself to linger in his sheets just a bit longer than necessary.

"Turn on that shitty movie." Harry's chest rumbled, his baritone soothing her even if his words were far from eloquent.

"Which one?" Reaching over Harry, she pulled the periwinkle throw off the back of the couch and spread it across their bodies, careful to keep the side Crooks liked to sun on off their skin before she rolled over so her back faced his front and she snatched the remote from the coffee table before leaning back into his embrace.

Harry wound his arms around her waist, tugging her back into his hold until her bum was pressed firmly against his groin, his face hidden against the back of her neck as he murmured against her skin. "The one with the girl…and that arsehole who doesn't realise he likes her until the end."

"Pride and Prejudice?" Hermione questioned with a small laugh as she powered on her telly.

"Sure, sounds right."

"You know," Hermione began as she switched the input from cable to her DVD player which whirled to life. "He's not an arsehole. He loved her the whole time."

"Whatever." Harry whispered dismissively, his fingertips stroking small circles on her hip bone.

Hermione smirked, knowing full well he knew what she said was true. He'd sat through the bloody movie enough times to know by now the entire plot, even if he pretended to only half listen. When the title menu loaded, Hermione quickly pressed play before tossing her remote onto the floor within arm's reach before she settled back in his loose, but secure embrace.

Harry only made it twenty minutes in, before the lazy circles he drew on her ceased, and his arm fell heavy with sleep against her side. She laid there in silence, listening to his heavy breath ghost across the skin on her neck, and although logic told her she should wake him and send him home, her heart told her it was silly. Harry was her friend, and he didn't want to be alone tonight, for whatever reason.

Surely breaking _one_ silly little rule wouldn't matter.

And as she reasoned with herself as to why his staying the night was acceptable, her eyelids grew too heavy to remain open, and soon the distant sounds of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet lulled her to sleep as she lay in her best friend's arms.

* * *

_1\. No Kissing_  
_2\. No One Knows_  
_3\. No Sleepovers_  
_4\. No Cuddling_  
5\. No Romance  
6\. No Expectations  
7\. No Asking About The Other Person's Dates  
8\. No Jealousy  
9\. No Going on Dates with Each other  
10\. No Falling in Love


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione flipped through the latest issue of Witch Weekly, brown eyes scanning Pansy's latest article on Spring fashion and how jewel tone robes were a _must_ for garden parties. She lay on her stomach at the foot of Harry's bed, her chin propped up on one arm, her legs idly swinging to and fro in the air like she had often done as a kid.

What should have been an innocently adorable pose was made quite lascivious by Hermione's clothing - or lack thereof. She was in a pair of high cut knickers, the gray lace cupping her arse just so, and a thin white camisole that was riding up her middle, exposing the supple sun-kissed skin on her back. If anyone had walked into the room at that moment, the true nature of her and Harry's relationship would have been revealed.

Harry was leaning back against the headboard, his eyes flashing up to watch her over the rim of his thick black frames. Even though he'd taken her earlier in his sitting room, a dull roar of need sprang to his loins as he watched her.

"You're supposed to be working," Hermione told him, cutting her eyes to him playfully before she flipped the page in her magazine with an extra flourish for his benefit.

Harry laughed, dropping his eyes back to the folder that was propped up against his bent thigh. "Kind of hard when you're wearing my favourite knickers," Harry mused as he lifted the parchment, eyes roaming over the case notes from Seamus' latest arrest.

"If you'd like I can take them off," Hermione teased, rolling onto her back and moving her hands to her hips, slipping her index fingers beneath the lacy sides as she pressed her hips into the mattress, lifting her pelvis up so she could shimmy them down.

Harry let out a growl as he reached down and lightly kicked at her closest hand. "Yeah, because _that_ will distract me less," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"Well what do you want me to do? I didn't bring any overnight clothes." Hermione laughed as she lowered herself back to his bed, her hands folding across the flat of her stomach as she tilted her head to look up at him.

"I don't know. Maybe put on something of mine. It's not like you don't help yourself to my clothing anyways," Harry said, waving his hand towards his dresser, his attention returning to the folder in his lap. He began to flip through some of the surveillance photos of the Potions Mistress they'd apprehended, watching the magic snapshots come to life, providing the proof they needed to arrest her for selling unauthorized aging potions to underage wizards.

Hermione shook her head, pulling her eyes back to the ceiling with just the hint of a smile on her lips. "Why bother? You'll just take it off me before bed."

"Damn right I will," Harry returned without any hesitation. "But it at least provides enough of a deterrent for me to get my work done. I _do_ have a meeting tomorrow morning with Kingsley about this arrest, you know?"

"Not my problem you don't manage your time well," Hermione replied offhandedly with a shrug. The truth was, she was barely managing her own schedule. Between her duties at work, keeping up with her friends, and shagging Harry, she was running on steam most nights. Which was why she had taken up staying overnight at Grimmauld Place on Wednesday evenings when Harry was in town.

While yes, they were both fully aware she was breaking rule number three, they'd come to the very logical conclusion that occasional sleepovers would not be bad. She'd spent the night at his place before they started shagging. It was no different now—except for the whole sleeping in his bed…naked…and having morning sex before returning to the Ministry.

But no one needed to know about _that_ part of their arrangement, right?

"Speaking of managing your time…" Harry's voice trailed off as he set the photographs back inside the folder before closing it. Securing the thick metal clip around it, Harry tossed the folder back on his nightstand before he dipped his fingers beneath his glasses to rub the strain from his eyes as he spoke. "Are you going to Gabrielle's opening over spring holiday?"

"It's on Friday, right?" Hermione questioned, her brow knitting as she mentally checked her calendar. She'd only just received the invitation in the post, and had not yet checked her timetable to make sure she could fit it in between her other obligations.

"No, Saturday," Harry corrected, dropping his arm to rest on top of his bent knee as he looked down to her. His burgundy trunks rode up his thigh as he sank back against his headboard, his head pressing against the wooden frame.

"Oh, then yes. Why? You're not thinking of bailing, are you?" Hermione rolled to her side so she could face him, thick chestnut curls pooling on the mattress as she leaned down to rest her chin on her forearm.

Harry shook his head, his lips pursing. "No…" His voice trailed off and he looked away from her, eyes drifting towards the ceiling as guilt ate at his half-truth. "Maybe…"

"Harry!" Hermione scolded with a laugh. Reaching out she smacked at his foot, laughing as he recoiled his leg, tucking it underneath his bent knee quickly. "You can't not attend. She's Ron's sister-in-law."

"I know."

"And our friend."

"I _know_."

"And, she was there to support Ron and George when they opened their second shop in Hogsmeade."

"Merlin, Hermione, I know. Okay?" Harry sighed, tipping his head back on the headboard with an exasperated sigh. "It's not that I don't _want_ to go. It's just…"

Hermione pushed up off the mattress, her head cocking to the side, her lips pursing. "What's wrong?" her voice was soft, tender even as she climbed across the mattress towards him. Her knees nudged his thighs further apart until she was able to settle on the mattress between his legs, her hands gently resting on each of his knees, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm just tired," Harry responded with a sigh. He reached out, tugging on one of her wild curls that spiraled beautifully into a corkscrew, tempting him to play with it like a cat with a string toy. "I just got back from Leeds, and I'm supposed to be in Aberdeen the three days prior to the opening."

"Aberdeen?" Hermione lifted a brow, her hands sliding down his legs before folding in her lap. "Circe, what's in Aberdeen?"

"You know I can't answer that," Harry said with a small grimace.

"Oh…right, Sorry."

"Regardless, I'm going to be knackered. There's going to be reporters and everyone will want a bloody picture," he said, lifting his hands to his face and pushing his glasses up before rubbing his fingers across his brows and applying a light pressure to his eyes as he let loose a heavy sigh.

"Look, if you don't want to come, don't. I can make up some excuse to give to Gabbi and you can just take Ron for a pint to make up for it," Hermione offered, leaning back until she settled to sit on her feet.

"Really?" Harry glanced up, emerald eyes squinting at her blurry figure before he pulled his glasses off the top of his head and he pushed them up the bridge of his nose.

Hermione nodded, leaning over to press her elbow on his bent knee, using him for support. "Yes, _really_. But only because I don't want to hear you whinging the entire evening."

"Whinging?" Harry reached out, his hands finding her waist, and with a quick tug, he pulled her into his embrace. His hands slid across her lower back, splaying wide to touch as much of her skin as possible as he rolled them over until she lay pinned beneath him, her curls spread across his mattress. "I don't whinge."

Hermione squealed with laughter as he wrestled her beneath him. Her legs bent at the knee, slotting his hips against hers and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her hands tugging at his untidy hair playfully. "You most certainly do."

"Name one time!" Harry challenged, his brows wagging.

"Okay, how about two weeks ago when I didn't bring you an ice lolly from my unit's luncheon." Hermione smirked, her head cocking to the side.

"That wasn't whinging. I was simply upset because you got Magdalena's Chocolate Drizzle—which I'd like to point out is my absolute favourite flavor."

"After blueberry pie, of course," Hermione interjected quickly.

"Well, duh. I'm not a bloody sociopath," Harry scoffed with a shake of his head, as if the idea of anyone not liking a blueberry pie ice lolly was the most absurd thing he'd ever heard. "Anyways, name another time. A r_eal_ example please."

Hermione snorted, settling under his weight that felt oddly comforting as she lay beneath him and her fingers stroked idly against the back of his neck, smoothing out the little hairs. "Okay, how about the time I gave Ginny a present from Australia, and not you."

Harry opened his mouth, his eyes glowing with an antagonistic fire but before words could leave his lips, he quickly pursed them closed, taking a quick breath before he gave a nod. "Okay. One time. But that's because I get you things on my trips."

"The little soaps from your hotels don't count as gifts, Harry," Hermione laughed, pulling on a particularly unruly strand of his hair that stood at attention a top his head.

"Excuse me, you cannot classify what counts as a gift and what does not." Harry sat as he swatted her hand away from his hair before rubbing the top of his head. "But prepare to eat your words, Mione, because I got you a gift."

"What?" Hermione said through laughter, her hands sliding off his torso as he quickly moved off the bed. Pushing up on her elbows, she watched him dart across his bedroom to his messenger bag that hung on a hook attached to the door. "You got me a gift?"

Flipping over the canvas bag, Harry rooted around inside, pushing files and trinkets away in search of her present that lay inside. "Yes. Because unlike you, I am a thoughtful friend," he said matter-of-factly.

"What is it?"

Harry paused his search with a heavy sigh and he turned to look over his shoulder at her. "Why the hell would I spoil it and tell you? The surprise is literally half the point of giving a gift." Harry turned his attention back to his bag and moments later he let out a quiet "Ah-ha!" before pulling out a small brown parchment package.

Pushing up on his mattress, Hermione crossed her legs over one another in a similar fashion that a school kid might, twisting her limbs together in a small pretzel as she leaned back against his headboard, her brow furrowing when she reached out the take the package from him.

"I was killing time last week in Leeds, while I waited for the go ahead from Effie to arrest Cassius Shafiq and was wandering down some alley with Muggle shops and saw a bookstore—"

"Wait, _you _went into a bookstore?" Hermione lifted her eyes from the brown parchment wrapped package, her brow cocking in disbelief.

"Yes, I went into a bookstore," Harry scoffed.

"_Willingly?_ Good Godric you must have been bored."

"Oh fuck off," Harry said dismissively as he disappeared into his en suite bathroom. "My options were limited. It was either a bookstore or a kitchen supply place. I didn't fancy any new pans, so I figured why not. Anyways, I started talking to the old bloke behind the counter, who ended up being the owner. One thing led to another…"

Hermione examined the gift, the distant sound of Harry relieving himself echoing out into the bedroom as she ran her fingers across the parchment paper, trying to discern what might lay inside. "What is it?" she called out to him skeptically, trying her luck at that line of questioning once more, her lips pursing.

"Just open the bloody thing already, would you?" Harry called out from his bathroom.

"Ugh, fine." She slid her nail across the piece of tape, slicing it in half before she began to unwrap it. It wasn't until she caught a glimpse of the tattered cover that she stopped moving entirely, her eyes widening.

No.

No fucking way.

He didn't.

Her hands trembled as she peeled back the wrapping, revealing more of the cover. The book was in poor shape, the front cover practically hanging on by a thread, but beneath the deep groves of time and wear, she could make out the golden script that once graced the cover with its beauty.

"Holy shite!"

Mansfield Park.

While not her favorite Austen novel, the story held a special place in her heart. She turned over the tome, handling it with the utmost care, completely unaware she was holding her breath as she looked down at the novel. Cracking open the text, another gasp stole what little breath remained in her lungs as she took in the publishing date. 1837. "Holy fucking hell."

"So I did good?" Harry questioned, flopping down onto the mattress at her feet, his body bouncing on the springs as he stretched his arms above his head, the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen flexing as he tucked his hands behind his head.

"Harry. I can't—there's no bloody way I can accept this," she said quickly, fumbling over her words as she shut the book delicately before wrapping the parchment back around it.

"What? Don't be absurd. Of course, you can."

"No, I can't! Harry, this must have cost a fortune," she said, thrusting the book towards him, eyes wide with shock.

"Well it's rude to ask, but if you _must_ know, it wasn't cheap. Which is precisely why you have to accept. It would be impolite not to, considering I can't very well pop up to Leeds and return the damn thing," he explained with a small shrug.

"But Harry…this is too much."

"Think of it as an early birthday gift. Would that make it better?"

"My birthday is nearly _three months_ away!" she reminded him, disbelief still evident in her voice.

"A _very_ early birthday gift," Harry insisted. "Look, you have to accept, because I certainly have no use for it. I have enough old shitty books in my library—I'm not looking to add any more."

Hermione gasped, tucking the book against her chest. "Mansfield Park is not shitty!" she said quickly, her fingers stroking across the spine, as if Harry's word would personally offend the book. "But fine. If you insist, I'll accept. But _only_ because you have no idea how to properly appreciate something as lovely as this."

Looking down to the aged novel that was still tucked against her chest, she allowed her fingers to run across the gold-leafed pages before she set it back on the thick parchment, carefully wrapping it before she set it beside her on the bed.

Pushing up to a tall kneel, Hermione moved down to Harry, swinging her leg over his body and settling in his lap. Her hands dropped to his chest, her fingers running through the coarse black hair as she leaned down to press a chaste kiss against each one of his cheeks before finally ending with his lips.

Harry's hands found her waist, his thumb stroking softly across her hip bones as he beamed up at her with a crooked smile that was far too large to be anything but genuine. His reasoning for purchasing the book—which was admittedly stupidly expensive, was selfish. He liked to see her happy. They had spent far too much of their youth fighting for their lives and dealing with problems that were far bigger than teenagers should worry themselves with.

But that time in their lives was past. There was a renewed peace amongst the British Wizarding World, and even though his job was to catch dark wizards and petty criminals, he could push all that aside and focus on happiness for a change.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered against his lips, pushing against his chest, and she righted herself, her hands sliding down his chest and across his abdomen.

"You're welcome." Harry gave her hips a gentle squeeze as he rolled beneath her, adjusting himself until his cock was slotted against her arse comfortably.

"You didn't have to do that, you know?" Hermione cocked her head to the side, chestnut curls framing her face. "I would have been happy with the little soaps."

"I know I didn't have to," Harry returned.

"Then why did you?" Hermione pressed curiously. Was it possible this little 'no strings attached' shagging was turning into something more? Was he feeling the same butterflies she was?

Lifting a hand from her hip, Harry ruffled the hair on top of his head nervously. "I don't know…because you're my friend?" Harry surmised with a shrug. "I didn't really think about it. Right place. Right time. I figured you'd like it. I'm allowed to buy gifts for my friends, you know?"

Hermione snorted in disbelief, her nose wrinkling. He was trying to downplay purchasing a priceless novel. Like it bore no difference from paying for pints at The Leaky. While she obviously didn't know the exact amount spent, she could wager to guess the book was worth far more than a measly three sickles! "You're friends with Ron and you aren't running out to buy him new broomsticks just because."

"Yeaaah." Harry drew out his word slowly, looking at her as if the answer was completely obvious, but when Hermione only responded by lifting a brow, he continued, "Ron doesn't put my cock in his mouth, Mione."

Hermione's eyes went wide, and her mouth dropped in a wide smile. Oh Merlin, that's what this was about?! She got a priceless book because she'd sucked him off a few times?!

The butterflies that had bloomed in her belly disappeared, and the nervous tension that had been building over the idea of Harry actually feeling something for her beyond friendship vanished. In the back of her mind she felt a twinge of disappointment, but the logical side of her knew that it was better this way.

After all, they were just shagging, right?

No commitment.

No feelings.

Just sex.

"Is that a hint, Harry Potter?" Hermione questioned, her voice filled with laughter, eyes dancing in the soft light of his bedroom.

A flash of desire bloomed behind his eyes, his hands gripped her waist and he purposefully rocked up into her body to accentuate his point. "Well...mean, I wouldn't say no if you're offering."

Hermione bit her bottom lip, her fingers curling just slightly into Harry's bicep as a pulse of pleasure radiated from where his pelvis pressed against her clit. "Okay…but before I do!" Hermione said quickly, holding up a hand to stop him from throwing her on the bed so he could remove his trunks. "Have you groomed lately?"

"Uh…what?" Harry said, his brow furrowing.

"You heard me. Have you groomed lately?" Crawling from his lap, Hermione fell onto the bed beside him, her body undulating from the mattress recoil. "You know…down there?"

Harry's eyes followed her hand, dropping to his trunks which had begun to tent from anticipation of what was to come. Her question, though, was effectively like splashing a bucket of cold water on his head, startling him into a near stupor. "What does that have to do with anything?" Harry questioned as he glanced up.

Hermione lifted her brows incredulously at him. "I don't want a mouthful of fuzz!"

Harry's eyes widened in recognition, and he pursed his lips together with a slow nod. "Oh, right." His hand went to the waistline of his trousers and he pulled it from his body so he could take an assessment of his grooming needs before releasing it, the elastic snapping against his skin loudly. "Give me five minutes!"

Hermione couldn't stop the fit of laughter from escaping her as she watched him fumble off the bed in a hurry, nearly toppling to the floor in the process before he moved to his bathroom. The sound of running water could be heard from the sink tap, and she could just make out the noise of him opening and closing his shower door to fetch his razor. "Circe, Harry, you really need to be more considerate! This should be a part of your regular maintenance," she called to him as she got up from the bed, moving the wrapped present to the top of his dresser before she pulled off her camisole, tossing it onto her overnight bag that sat in the corner.

"You know, It's a good thing you're not my girlfriend—" Harry called out to her from the bathroom. "—because if you were, I might feel bad about telling you to sod off right now."

Hermione crawled back onto the bed with a small laugh, sitting on her heels at the foot as she eyed the bathroom door expectantly. "Then it's a good thing you're just my mate, because I am warning you now that if you don't start trimming more often, I am going to stop shaving all together."

The tink of his razor tapping against the porcelain sink punctuated his laughter that echoed out to her. "Touché!"

* * *

_1\. No Kissing_  
_2\. No One Knows_  
_3\. No Sleepovers_  
_4\. No Cuddling_  
_5\. No Romance_  
6\. No Expectations  
7\. No Asking About The Other Person's Dates  
8\. No Jealousy  
9\. No Going on Dates with Each other  
10\. No Falling in Love


	7. Chapter 7

Le Chaudron de Bulles was stunning.

Gabrielle had done a fantastic job on the décor—clean, modern furniture contrasted beautifully against the French-inspired architecture inside the restaurant. Although, Hermione was almost certain her husband—Blaise—likely had his hand in the whole process. He had always had an eye for design, even back at Hogwarts.

Everyone who was anyone within British wizarding society seemed to be in attendance. Celestina Warbeck, Myron Wagtail and even Gwenog Jones made it to the event, sending the photographers outside the posh restaurant into a frenzy.

Of course, adding Harry, Ron and herself into the mix only managed to amplify the chatter.

Hermione stood against the back wall of the restaurant's dining room between her best friends, a flute of almond champagne held loosely between her fingertips as she watched the room with a small smile. She was happy for Gabrielle's successful opening night; the witch had been working so hard to bring this dream to life. Which was partially why Hermione agreed to attend. While she disliked the limelight, she knew her presence would help create a buzz necessary to bring in hungry patrons.

"Where's Ginn?" Harry broke the silence, glancing over the top of Hermione's head toward Ron. He had only just arrived moments earlier–hours late, but the important part was that he was here, right? He had still debated blowing off the whole event, but since his mission had ended a day early, he figured he ought to support his friend's sister-in-law.

Well, that, and he hoped to take Hermione home with him after for a little _Quidditch match_.

Ron made a noise that sounded distantly like "what?" his mouth full of the stuffed mushroom cap hors d'oeuvres that had just come from the kitchens.

"Your sister. Where is she?" Harry laughed, turning to survey the crowd that lingered in front of them. "I wanted to ask if I could use her box seats for next week's Falcon's match."

"Or you could just buy your own tickets instead of relying on free ones," Hermione mumbled into her glass before taking a small sip, the bubbly liquid tickling her nose as she tipped back her glass.

"Oh... Uhhh, I think she and Luna already left." Ron lifted his shoulders in a small shrug, his eyes already focusing on the wait staff that was approaching from the kitchens with a tray full of what looked like sliced baguettes covered in a thick black-purple mash.

"Left? But this just started," Harry grumbled with a roll of his eyes.

Hermione lifted a single brow at the raven haired wizard, "Actually, it started nearly two hours ago. You're just late."

"But dinner hasn't even been served," Harry defended quickly, his voice lifting just enough to catch the attention of a group of food critics who were walking towards the back dining room where their menu tasting waited. Lifting a small hand, he gave a small wave, forcing an awkward grin on his lips. "Some sister-in-law she is. What the hell did they leave for anyways?"

"Olive Tapenade?" A waiter dressed in a rich set of wine coloured velvet dress robes interrupted, lowering the tray in an offering.

Hermione looked at the plates, her brows lifting to her hairline and she gave a quick shake of her head. "No thank you."

"Yeah, I'll pass too," Harry said quickly, lifting a hand in front of him as he gave a quick shake of his head.

Ron seemed to eye the tray curiously, cornflower blue eyes swirling in contemplation before he reached out and plucked two servings of the baguette off the tray. "Why not? Can't be that gross, right?" he questioned, nodding his thanks to the waiter who had begun to back away from them before he took a large bite of the first slice. "Ginny said something about needing to go back to their flat to pet Luna's kneazle…I didn't realise they bought a pet, but I guess it makes sense. Domesticated life and all that nonsense."

Hermione, who had been taking another sip of her champagne during Ron's explanation, snorted loudly into the champagne flute, causing the bubbly liquid to flash back on her face. Lowering her glass, she hastily wiped the droplets from her cheeks with her fingertips, ignoring the pointed look from the wizards that flanked her. "Ron, we were just over at their flat. You _know_ they don't have a kneazle."

"But then why would she say that?" Ron questioned through a mouthful of baguette.

Recognition flashed behind Harry's eyes and his laughter soon joined Hermione's. Ginny had always been quite the over-sharer. He'd been on the receiving end of Ron's misguided anger when she would let details about their budding relationship slip, though that was many years and about four girlfriends and two boyfriends ago for the Quidditch star.

Taking a large sip of his ale, Harry leaned over Hermione to cap Ron on the shoulder, jostling him just a bit with a knowing laugh. "Think about it mate."

Ron's face blanked as he looked between his friends, still chewing the hors d'oeuvres noisily before he froze, mid-chew, his eyes widening, and his face scrunched up like he'd eaten a sour lemon drop. Gulping down his mouthful of food, he set the remaining piece down on the cocktail table to his left with a grimace. "Oh Circe! Why in the bloody hell would Ginny tell me that!?"

"Because she's your sister. Is there really another explanation needed?" Hermione snickered, taking half a step back so she could reach around Ron to set her empty glass down on the cocktail table. She was only two glasses in, but her head felt fuzzy from the effects of the champagne. She needed to eat, but the appetizers that left the kitchen were not something she was really interested in taking a gamble on this evening. She loved Gabi's cooking, but couldn't the girl just make some fish and chips? Or even a pasta dish?

"I suppose not," Ron mumbled, swiping his bottle of stout from the table before he took a large sip of the dark beer. He looked around the room, presumably in search of another waiter carrying more food for them to sample, but instead, his eyes landed on a gaggle of witches that were situated across the room from them. They were alternating between casting prolonged glances at the trio and whispering to one another behind lifted hands.

Ron's face broke into a smirk, and he glanced to Harry, reaching behind Hermione to nudge his friend before he inclined his head to the group. "Ten o'clock, mate." His eyes fluttered back to the young witches and he lifted his beer bottle towards them in a silent greeting before taking another large sip.

"Wha?" Harry looked up from checking his wristwatch, his head swirling around the direction Ron gave—which happened to be on the complete opposite side of the room, before he looked around the room to find what Ron was talking about. "That's three o'clock."

Ron shrugged indifferently, waving his hand at Harry without a glance towards him, nearly knocking Hermione in the face. "No, that, my friend, is a good time. Let's go say hi."

Hermione rolled her eyes, swatting at Ron's hand as he neared her face again. Talk of the boys' frolics with other witches was nothing new—it came with the territory of being best friends with two men. Of course, it was now a little different. After all, it had been Harry who had his face between her thighs earlier that morning before work. Her arms crossed over her breasts and she watched Harry out of the corner of her eye, curious to see how he would react.

"Honestly, mate? I'd rather not," Harry replied, his hand going up to ruffle the untidy hair on the back of his head sheepishly. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to talk to women. I mean, there was certainly nothing holding him back. After all, he wasn't _technically_ dating anyone, right? But the idea of chatting up some young witches seemed exhausting, especially after his week away.

Ron let loose a long-suffering sigh before taking another draw from his beer. "Look, it's our duty as unofficial Ambassadors—"

"Ambassadors?" Hermione scoffed. "What exactly are you an ambassador for, Ronald Weasley?"

"The Ambassador of getting to know pretty witches!" Ron waved his hand dismissively at her.

"I am not entirely sure you know what that word means." Hermione looked up at the redhead, her brows raised in amusement when he nodded his head in agreement.

"Can't we just stay back here, away from the photographers and groupies?" Harry said, a sliver of hope lingering on his question as he looked over to Ron.

"Negative. I'm afraid you owe me one." Ron moved around Hermione, careful to avoid bumping her as he draped his arm around Harry's shoulder and gave him a small jostle. "Besides, 'Mione won't mind if we pop away for a bit, will you?" The redhead turned the full weight of his gaze to her.

Brown eyes flickered between her friends and as she stood there, noticing the distinct difference of hope written on each of their faces, she couldn't prevent the smile that spread. Ron's eyes glistened with anticipation and optimism that she would say she didn't mind. Meanwhile Harry's face bore the same hopeful look for the exact opposite reason.

She watched, silently laughing as Harry shook his head no, mouthing a silent words to her.

'_Please don't_'

"Not in the slightest. Who am I to stop you from conversing with your fans?" Hermione waved her hand across the room towards the gaggle of witches. "After all, you are _ambassadors_." To a sane person, the sarcasm would have been evident in her cadence, but Ron seemed to overlook the obvious and instead let out a small noise in victory as he lifted his beer towards her in thanks.

"You're the best, Mione!" Ron glanced at Harry with a too wide grin, his molars nearly visible. "Alright mate. Let's go! I'm calling dibs on the blonde."

"Wait—Ron. Urgh!" Harry voice cut off as Ron began to drag him across the busy room, nearly spilling his entire pint of ale on an elderly couple as he struggled against the pull.

Hermione lifted her hand to her painted lips, hiding her smile as she watched Harry narrow his eyes in a death stare that held promise of payback later. Lifting her free hand, she wiggled her fingers in a playful wave before leaning back on the cocktail table they had lingered in front of.

Her eyes drifted around the room as she listened to the soft string music that was piped into the restaurant. The place really was lovely, and the smells from the kitchen that perfumed the air inside were truly mouthwatering, but Hermione was inclined to agree with Harry. It had been a rather long week, and as much as she wanted to stay and support her friend, she was already counting down the minutes until she could make an early escape.

Her eyes drifted to the clock that sat above the bar, and she pursed her lips. It was still far too early to leave—her absence would surely be noted. With a conservative estimate of needing to waste at least another hour, Hermione picked up her empty champagne flute and clutch from the cocktail table. Tucking her bag under her arm, she moved through the crowd, careful to avoid bumping into the fellow patrons who lingered around the room as she made her way to the bar.

Setting her empty glass down on its shiny black surface, she leaned on the counter, hoping to catch the eye of the Goblin who worked behind the counter, hastily mixing cocktails and pouring beer from the tap for thirsty customers.

"Hermione?"

Hermione's head turned to look over her shoulder, brown eyes seeking who had called her name. A few paces away a rather large brunette wizard stood holding a glass of red wine. To say he was massive would have been an understatement. The man could have easily filled one of the Ministry lifts by himself. His bicep was easily the size of her bloody head, and it looked as though his fingers would touch if he placed his hands around her waist."Hermione, is that you?" the Adonis lookalike questioned, flashing her a grin that instantly made her weak in the knees.

Hermione looked around, assuming the Greek god of a man was talking to _anyone_ other than herself, but as quickly as she started, she realised what a bloody moron she must look like because there was absolutely no bloody way there was another Hermione in this room. In fact, the only other Hermiones she had ever met were still wearing nappies!

"Uh… yes?" she squeaked as she spun around so her back was to the bar.

"Blimey, it's been a while," the wizard said. He moved towards her with a confidence that should have been illegal. The crowd parted around him, giving way to his muscular girth. He wore a navy blue pair of trousers that hugged his thighs tightly, a rich brown coloured belt, and a cream oxford. The buttons of his shirt pulled taut with each inhale of lungs, threatening to pop open and reveal what she was certain was a layer of muscles so thick her mouth would water.

Blinking out of her trance, Hermione lifted her eyes to his face, trying her best to figure out how he might know her. His hair was curly, and a hue of honey brown that made it look like caramel in the artificial light. His cheeks were covered in a thick layer of facial hair—not her favorite, but he seemed to take care of it based on the sharp lines edging it shape.

She might have asked who the hell he was, as she was nearly positive she had never before come across a man so stupidly handsome in her life, but as soon as she stopped ogling his muscles and looked at his eyes, she was nearly floored with recognition.

"Cormac?" Hermione's brow lifted, nearly hitting her hairline.

It had been a number of years since she had laid eyes on the former Gryffindor Keeper, but she would never forget his eyes. They were a distinct shade of jade that stole her breath away even while she had been trying to avoid his affections during sixth year.

"In the flesh," Cormac responded with a toothy smile that made identical dimples appear on his cheeks.

What exactly was the protocol for running into a former classmate who turned into a panty-dropping man? Was she supposed to hug him? Shake his hand? Or maybe just throw herself at him and ask if he still wanted to take her to the Slug Club? The possibilities roved through her head at lightning speed.

"Merlin's cock—erm! I mean pants!" Hermione flubbed, a deep crimson blush blooming on her cheeks and spilling down her neck. "H-How are you? You look…great."

Cormac's laugh boomed from his chest, filling the space between them and making her thighs press together. She couldn't help but wonder if everything this wizard did was sexy. "I'm well. Just saying busy. How about you?" he questioned as he drew closer, his frame brushing against hers as he moved to the bar beside her and set his near-empty wine glass down beside her empty flute of champagne.

He leaned across the bar, letting out a sharp whistle that caught the ear of the Goblin, and with a quick gesture to the glasses on the counter top, he turned back towards her, his elbow planted onto the counter.

Hermione opened her mouth to wish him luck, as the bartender had ignored her for the past few minutes, but almost immediately the Goblin moved towards them, getting to work on refilling their beverages. She should have been pissed, because of course the Goblin would happily help the beautiful god of a man to her left, but she wasn't about to let her annoyance get in the way of a free drink.

"Oh uh… The same I suppose. I work for the Ministry in the Department of—"

"Magical Creatures," Cormac finished for her, fishing some coins from his pocket and he made a quick count before sliding them to the Goblin across the bartop once their drinks had been filled. "I'm well aware where you work, Hermione. It's hard not to keep tabs on you, you're all over the papers."

"Oh..." Her voice trailed off as a wave of butterflies broke from the cocoon in the pit of her stomach. He'd kept tabs on her. _He_ kept tabs on _her_. Never mind the fact that he was absolutely correct; she, Harry, and Ron were still written up in Witch Weekly on at least a monthly basis. Never mind the fact that this was once the boy who scoured the halls for her while she hid from his overly-forward advances. The man who stood before her was a far cry from the awkward teen she once knew, and although she had not heard from him in years, she wouldn't deny the physical attraction that bloomed to live inside her, sending a pulsing ache to the apex of her thighs.

"What have you been up to? Aside from keeping busy, that is," Hermione said after quickly clearing her throat, her hand reaching up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear before she nervously smoothed out the middle of her wine-coloured cocktail dress. "It's been what? Nearly seven years?"

"Sounds about right," Cormac agreed as he picked up his wine glass, flashing an appreciative smile to the Goblin before his eyes found her again. Lifting the glass to his lips, he took a sip after giving the liquid a small swirl. The fragrance wafted towards her, crossing the small distance that separated them. She wasn't typically a fan of red wines, but Merlin help her if she didn't wonder if she'd have a change of tune if she tasted it on his lips.

"I'm actually working at St. Mungo's as a Healer. Graduated last spring and got my residency there—which was fate I suppose, as a friend of mine got sent to India to complete his training. Not that I wouldn't enjoy the travel, but there is something comforting about being home, you know?"

Hermione knew she must have looked like a total idiot, standing there with her mouth agape, trying to figure out how _Cormac McLaggen_ went on to become a bloody Healer. Suddenly, her life's accomplishments post-war seemed trivial. "Wow, that's fantastic." She lifted her champagne to her lips, taking a hasty sip of the bubbly liquid. "Which department are you in?"

"Children's Ward."

Internally, she blanched. If it was socially acceptable, she might have even smacked herself in the forehead, because _of course_ he would go on to work in pediatrics! As if everything else wasn't bloody perfect enough, he would choose a specialty that tugged at the heartstrings.

"That's incredible, Cormac. You know, I always thought I wanted to be a Healer when I was younger, but…well, after the war, I figured I'd seen enough damage to last a lifetime," Hermione admitted, tapping her index finger on her glass nervously before she lifted her shoulders in a small shrug.

Suddenly, a rush of warmth moved down her arm, sending a twinge of energy to the butterflies in her belly. Cormac had closed the distance between them, and now one of his massive hands rested comfortingly just below her elbow, his thumb sweeping across her skin. "I can imagine," he said sympathetically.

Hermione's heart felt as if it back-flipped in her chest, thrumming wildly against her ribs. Shite, she wasn't going to make it through the hour if he kept bloody touching her and looking at her with those big eyes like that.

"So, aside from work, what's going on in your life? Any boyfriends…secret love children?" Cormac joked, winking at her with a genuine smile that made her mouth water.

"No!" Hermione rushed out quickly, practically lurching towards him to answer. "Uh...no. No boyfriends, and definitely no kids."

"Oh, do you not want any?" Cormac asked, his head tilting to the side. "Kids that is."

Hermione's eyes widened infinitesimally at his question, which felt far too forward considering he still had his hand on her arm. "No, I do. But I'm only twenty-six…and would prefer to be married first," she admitted before realizing how utterly old-fashioned it made her seem. It wasn't that she thought having children out of wedlock was bad—it was just something she never envisioned herself doing. Though, to be fair, she never thought she'd be so dreadfully single by twenty-six and shagging her best friend just to provide relief to her growing libido.

"Makes sense," Cormac mused. "I suppose that just leaves plenty of time for practice then, right?" he jokingly leered, his face splitting as his smile widened, his fingertips grazing her forearm as he dropped his hand to his side.

Hermione, who had been looking over the crowd just to give herself a moment's reprieve from looking at his chiseled jaw, glanced back with a furrowed brow. "Practice?"

"Yes…you know. _Practice_," he enunciated, wagging his brows.

Her eyes widened with recognition and she took a hurried sip of her champagne to hide the embarrassment that settled over her. "Oh yeah… loads of practice."

"Loads, uh? Colour me impressed." Cormac laughed before taking another sip of his wine.

Hermione flinched, internally cursing herself, and she reached out to set her glass down on the bar. Clearly she didn't need to drink anymore this evening—especially around incredibly handsome wizards. "That's not what I—"

Her explanation was cut short when a rather large barn owl swooped between them, dropping off a teal coloured envelope in front of Cormac with a soft hoot.

Cormac reached for the envelope without hesitation after setting down his half-empty glass of wine. The sound of ripping parchment followed and he withdrew the letter inside. Jade eyes scanned the text, and by the time he finished, he looked up with a remorseful smile at Hermione. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but I've got to go. I'm on call."

Hermione nodded, her tongue swiping across her lips. "Of course. Duty calls, right?" she said with a small awkward laugh as she wiped her hands across the skirt of her dress to pull the moisture from them. "It was nice to see you, Cormac."

"It was…I hope this won't be the last time though," he said, fingers quickly folding the parchment and he tucked it into his trouser pocket. "How about lunch on Friday? I'm off shift and can come pick you up at the Ministry."

"Are you…asking me on a date?"

"I suppose my answer to that question depends on if you'll accept or not," Cormac said slyly, his dimples coming to the surface once more, making her butterflies riot. "I would like to remind you that technically you still owe me after ditching me at Slug Club eight years ago."

"Owe you?" Hermione scoffed, her nose wrinkling as she shook her head. "You were inappropriate. Leaving was the best alternative to hexing you."

"I was sixteen!"

Hermione smirked, her lips pursing to the side as she lifted her hand to wave off his explanation.

Cormac laughed, his head tipping back for just a moment. "Okay, fine. Perhaps I was a tad inappropriate," he reluctantly agreed. "But what if I promise to be on my best behavior this time?"

"Well then I would definitely decline."

"Really now?" Cormac questioned, his brows lifting.

Hermione bit her bottom lip, chewing softly on the corner of her mouth as she watched his eyes sparkle in the soft light. "Maybe?" she said in a small voice, her fingers playing nervously with the pleat of her dress. "Look, just get out of here before I change my mind, okay?"

"Okay, okay!" Cormac laughed, lifting his hands in the air as he began to back away from the bar, flashing her a toothy smile. "So…I'll owl you?"

Hermione nodded, turning her body to track his movement and she leaned back until the countertop met her spine. "Sounds good. I'll be waiting."

Chewing on her bottom lip, Hermione watched Cormac walk backwards across the room, holding her gaze for a few more seconds before he turned on his heel with a small spring in his step, nearly colliding head first with a familiar raven haired wizard.

Harry looked startled by coming intimately acquainted with Cormac's chest. And although she couldn't hear their exchanged from this distance, if body language was any indication, Harry looked less than thrilled to see their former housemate.

Their exchange was brief, ending with a firm handshake before Harry moved around Cormac and walked over to Hermione with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "I can't believe that bloody prick is here," he mumbled, moving beside her.

"Harry!" Hermione scolded, picking up her drink once more. "That's not very kind."

"Oh what, you're friends with him now?" Harry shot her a glance out of the corner of his eye, his arms crossing over his chest.

"No…not really. We were just catching up over a drink," she said with a gesture towards the half-filled wine glass on the bar. "He doesn't seem like that bad of a guy, though. Really grown up since Hogwarts."

"Oh I'm _sure_," Harry murmured, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. "Look, I'm bloody over this. Want to get out of here?"

Hermione sipped her drink, her eyes already flitting around the room. Moments earlier she had been so ready to flee this place and find the comfort of sweatpants, socks and a good book back at her flat, but now the draw was gone. The butterflies inside her stomach still flapped their wings wildly, giving her a new found energy that needed to be burnt off. "Not really. Dinner's going to be served soon and I don't have to be into work until mid-morning tomorrow. Besides, it's quite early in the evening still."

"I know, but Salazar's bollocks, I cannot spend another minute in this bloody place," Harry whispered, his hand already at his collar, popping open the buttons that held the oxford closed. "Come home with me? We can order take in." His voice ticked up an octave, trying to make the idea sound enticing.

"Ehh…"

"Come on, 'Mione," Harry pleaded. "I'll make it with your while…"

"No, I think I'm going to stay. But you can go home and I'll cover for you," Hermione offered, tipping back the rest of her champagne before she leaned back to set her empty glass on the bar.

"Really?" Harry questioned in disbelief, his face falling.

Hermione drew her eyes back to him, her brow furrowing at his evident disappointment. "Yes, Really."

"Wow…okay. Fine," Harry rushed, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he pushed off the bar. "Whatever, I'll owl you later, I guess?"

Reaching out, Hermione set a hand on Harry's arm to pause his retreat. She'd known him for fifteen years now, and was well-versed in the many mood swings of her best friend, but this emotion was one she rarely had directed towards her. "Are you sore with me?"

Harry immediately stilled, his eyes dropping to her hand and when he pulled them back up to her face, his brows were nearly touching in the middle of his forehead. "What? Of course not."

"Because you're acting quite sore," Hermione whispered, taking a half step closer to him so her voice didn't carry.

Harry sighed, slouching out of her touch, and his hand rose to ruffle his untidy hair habitually. "Look, I'm just tired…I had a long week at work, and didn't intend on coming, but I was hoping you might come over after…well, all this," he said, sweeping his hand around them to gesture to the crowd.

"Well, _this_," Hermione repeated his gesture, her brows lifting just slightly with the movement. "isn't technically over. And, I would like to point out it's rather bold of you to assume that I didn't have any plans already."

"You have plans?"

"No…but that isn't the point!" Hermione said quickly, her hands going to her hips. "The point is that you assumed I was available as opposed to asking me."

"Well, if you're free then come over," Harry said, lifting a palm skyward as he gestured towards her. "Honestly, I don't understand what the big deal is. You were over last night, and you usually spend Fridays at my place anyhow."

Maybe it was the champagne, or perhaps it was the fact that Harry just assumed she would be at his beck and call, but whatever the case was, all Hermione knew was she could feel her temper rising. She took a quick look at her surroundings, making sure no one was too close before she leaned in so they were mere inches apart. A deep frown pulled down the corners of her lips as she set a piercing glare on her friend. "Harry, I am not just some—some Knockturn Alley whore that you get to use whenever you feel like it!" she hissed.

"Oh, fuck me!" Harry sighed, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and he let a heavy puff of air escape his lungs. "You know what? Fucking forget I even said anything. Don't worry about it. I'm going home." He tossed his arms up in the air as he shouldered past her. He was prepared to deal with noisy reporters, overly enthusiastic admirers, and Ministry officials tonight, but he was entirely ill-prepared to deal with an irrational Hermione.

"Good!" Hermione called after him, loud enough to draw the attention of the couples who lingered around them. Her arms crossed over her chest as she set her jaw, brown eyes tracking Harry as he moved towards the exit.

"Good!" he returned with equal fire, dismissively waving his hand in the air before he pushed open the restaurant door with a bit too much gusto, causing it to slam into the doorstop with a window-rattling strength.

Hermione stood in the middle of the room, positively simmering at Harry's abrupt departure. While _yes_, what they were doing was supposed to be casual and fun, it didn't mean Harry got the right to treat her like some personal toy. She was still a person and had every right to decline his offer. Beyond that, his assumption that she would be at his beck and call was beyond unacceptable.

As a waiter passed by with a fresh tray of champagne, Hermione snatched one, ignoring his protest as she brought it to her lips for a large drink. "Put it on Gabi's tab," Hermione told the waitstaff before moving across the room towards the cocktail table she and her friends had claimed earlier.

"Blimey, Hermione, what the bloody hell was that about?" Ron questioned as he approached from behind.

Hermione turned, still clutching her champagne, to face her friend, prepared to give him an earful about their friend's pigheadedness. But as she turned, she came face to face with a petite blonde tucked under his arm, her thin arms wrapped around his waist possessively as she peppered the side of his neck with kisses.

Hermione gritted her teeth, glancing up at Ron, who had red lipstick smeared across his mouth. "Nothing," she lied.

Ron gave a half nod, clearly preoccupied with whoever this latest flavour of the night was. "Huh. Alright…Say, do you know where the loo is?" Ron questioned, his eyes growing half-lidded as the blonde began to nibble on his earlobe.

Hermione let out a noise of irritation, the growl rumbling her chest as she shook her head. Merlin, this was a bloody public event. What the fuck was he thinking? Just as she prepared to give him directions to the restroom, the witch pulled away from where she had suctioned her mouth to Ron's ear and she gasped loudly.

"Oh my stars!" Her voice was shrill, hitting an octave Hermione didn't realise was humanly possible. "You're Hermione Granger!" she gushed. Dislodging herself from Ron, the blonde wrapped her arms around Hermione in a tight embrace. "I've looked up to you since I was a little girl!"

Hermione dislodged herself from the unwanted attack of affection , spilling some of her champagne on the skirt of her dress in the process. "A little girl?" Hermione echoed, a single brow lifting, and when the witch confirmed with a head nod, she couldn't help but let out a hollow laugh.

Tipping back the rest of her champagne, Hermione drained the flute of its contents before she reached out, pressing the stemware in Ron's chest forcibly. "Down the hall to the left," she said quickly as she jutted her thumb towards the back of the room. "But do make smart choices, Ronald. I highly doubt this one remembers to take her potion monthly."

Hermione didn't wait for a reply. There was really nothing more that could be said. Harry was an arsehole and Ron was an idiot. Any sort of fun and excitement that this evening and her future plans with Cormac had promised vanished minutes earlier during her fight with Harry and were most definitely not returning anytime soon.

Pulling her wand from her clutch, Hermione moved through the crowd and exited the restaurant, ignoring the calls of her name from the reporters. She lifted her hand to shield her face as the bursts of bulbs popping on their cameras illuminated the dark night.

Her heels clicked loudly against the cobblestone road, echoing her footsteps as she moved towards the Apparition point, intent on returning to her _own_ home for the night, suddenly no longer in the mood to deal with the crowds at the restaurant, but also the idiot wizards that she claimed as her best friends.

* * *

1\. _No Kissing_  
_2\. No One Knows_  
_3\. No Sleepovers_  
_4\. No Cuddling_  
_5\. No Romance_  
_6\. No Expectations_  
7\. No Asking About The Other Person's Dates  
8\. No Jealousy  
9\. No Going on Dates with Each other  
10\. No Falling in Love


	8. Chapter 8

"You're going on a bloody date with Cormac?!" Harry's voice cut through the noisy canteen, catching more than a few people's eyes.

"Shh!" Hermione looked up from her salad, eyes widening. She knew he was not going to be thrilled to hear the news based on his reaction to running into Cormac last week, but Merlin, she didn't expect him to shout about it over lunch. "Godric, keep it down. I don't need the entire Ministry knowing my business."

"Tell me you're joking," Harry whispered, pushing aside his plate of chips so he could place his elbows on the table, suddenly no longer having an appetite for his lunch.

Hermione scoffed, dropping her eyes back to her salad as she picked up another forkful. "Of course I'm not joking," she whispered before taking another bite. "I don't want to hear your disapproval, by the way."

"'Mione ...Hermione, seriously though? Cormac?" Harry sighed as he reached up, sliding his fingers underneath his thick black frames to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "That guy is _such_ a bloody wanker—"

"Harry! I don't want to hear it." Hermione's voice cut him off mid-sentence, and she pointed her fork at him threateningly with narrowed eyes. When he responded with an exasperated sigh, his hand dropping to the tiny table they shared with a dramatic thunk, causing his wristwatch to clink against the metal, Hermione set her fork in her salad bowl with pursed lips. "Look, he's nice. He's got a real job, his own flat and…well, he's _fit_. I wasn't informing you of my intentions to date him as a means of asking for permission. It is a courtesy because…well, we've been… you know…" her voice trailed off, and she widened her eyes a bit for emphasis.

"Shagging?"

Hermione shushed him again, her head swirling around to make sure no one at the tables nearby had caught wind of what he just said. "Please, for Merlin's sake, keep it down!" she whispered heatedly, turning the full force of her doe eyes on him. "Look, if you don't have anything nice to say about my intentions, then I'd rather you not say anything at all. This is the first wizard I've dated who actually has the potential to be something… something _more_."

Her words stung. Much more than Harry would ever like to admit, and truthfully, he didn't quite understand why. They weren't in a relationship. He should be bloody happy she found someone she was interested in. Their _arrangement_ was always supposed to be temporary, just a means to scratch the proverbial itch. But it had only been a couple months. Selfishly, he wasn't ready to give up the comfort he'd found in her body.

Harry thinned his lips into an unhappy line and with a heavy breath of air, he pushed back from the table. Long arms moved over his chest, crossing low and defiantly as he pulled all emotion from his face, using the same tactic he would with a defiant detainee. If she didn't want to hear it, then he would do exactly what she'd said—say absolutely nothing.

Hermione watched him dig his heels in like some overgrown toddler who'd been told to put his favorite toy away. Her jaw dropped in disbelief as the realization set in that Harry was willing to put their friendship on the line over something as trivial as her dating Cormac.

Setting her jaw, Hermione quickly stood from the table and snatched her cross-body purse that was draped over her chair and she quickly slung it over her shoulder. "You need to grow the hell up, Harry," she snapped, hands trembling with anger as she snatched up her salad bowl, tucking it against her chest.

"Right, because Cormac is so bloody mature," Harry returned, purposefully avoiding her gaze, his eyes instead boring a hole into the wall on the opposite side of the room, while his fingers tapped an irritated melody against his bicep.

Hermione's nostrils flared, ire blooming across her cheeks in the form of a crimson flush. "He's a lot more put together than you!"

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?!" Harry finally glanced over at her, an unfamiliar feeling emanating from the centre of his chest, and it quickly moved to cloud his mind, consuming his rational thought. He didn't give a shite about Cormac and his sudden '_maturity'_ but the idea that Hermione—_his_ best friend, the witch who knew every bloody detail about his life, the same one he'd been shagging for the past two months—_his_ Hermione could possibly think that that buffoon of a man was somehow better than him, stung more than the idea of not being able to share a bed with her again.

"What it _means_ is that we've been on two dates and he isn't pawing at me for sex yet," Hermione started, no longer able to keep her voice low as she loomed over him, her foot snapping against the ground to emphasis her point. "It _means_ he sees more to me than just my bloody body, you Neanderthal!"

Harry rose quickly, nearly knocking over his metal chair in his haste. "You don't know the first bloody thing about him! He's just using—"

"Sod off!" Hermione snapped, lifting her hand to silence him, her frown deepening. "You can bloody owl me once you've grown the hell up, Harry Potter. Until then, enjoy eating alone." There was nothing further she could say. Harry was being a prick, and while she almost expected that type of ignorance from Ron on occasion, it was almost startling coming from him.

Harry watched in disbelief as Hermione turned around, her heels snapping on the tiled floor angrily as she marched out of the room, not even bothering to so much as glance back at him. His hands fisted at his side as he watched her curls bounce with each step, and when she disappeared out of the room, slamming the double doors behind her, a sudden anger washed over him. With a growl in frustration, he slammed his fist on the tiny table, nearly toppling it over as the force rang through the metal, echoing loudly around the suddenly quiet canteen.

He could feel eyes on him staring—judging his outburst. Grabbing his robes from the back of his chair, Harry draped it over his arm before roughly shoving the chair against the table. He didn't need this—Hermione's blatant disregard for his feelings, and more importantly, this judgment from people who didn't understand their situation. He moved quickly towards the opposite exit that she had taken moments before, opting to take the lift on the opposite side of the Ministry to return to his office just so he didn't have a chance of running into her for the remainder of the day.

* * *

Hermione refused to spend another moment thinking about Harry.

It had been nearly a week with not a single bit of communication from the wizard. No Floo call, no owls, no Patronus message, not even a bloody note on her desk!

While this infuriated her to no end, today was her third date with Cormac, and she refused to even allow a second of her time to be spent thinking about how her best friend was being a totally, unequivocally massive arsehole.

Using the reflection of the fountain she stood in front of, Hermione slyly checked her outfit once more, her hands smoothing the wrinkles from her white top. She'd opted for a pair of high waisted blue denims, a cotton tee that cut just above the beltline, and nude flats. Nothing extravagant, considering he was told her they would be having a picnic in the park, but something she'd spent far too much time painstakingly putting together.

She wanted to appear effortlessly cute—which was ironic with the amount of effort that she had actually gone through.

Tucking a curl behind her ears, Hermione glanced around the park, brown eyes flittering between the Muggles that were on afternoon strolls.

"Hermione!"

Turning towards the call, her face broke into a wide smile as she spotted Cormac crossing through the park, a wicker basket tucked under one massive bicep, while the other held a rolled up blue and white picnic blanket."Hi!" she called with a cheerful wave, her smile widening as she moved to meet him in the middle of the grassy lawn. Her arms wound around his middle in a quick hug before she leaned up on her toes to press a chaste kiss against his cheeks. "Here, let me help you with that." Her hands reached for the blanket, but just as her fingertips brushed over the soft material, Cormac backed away from her reach.

"No way. I've got this. You just find us a good spot," he said, flashing her a cheeky grin before nodding his head towards a small group of trees a few yards in front of them.

Hermione smirked and adjusted the strap on her cross-body as she looked across the lawn before pointing to a secluded little section between two large oak trees. "How about over there?" she suggested. It was partially shaded, with just enough sun peeking through the thick branches to allow the summer sun to warm her skin.

"Looks good." Cormac moved, beginning towards the selected spot. Hermione lingered back for a second, allowing herself to fall in step behind him so she could sneakily admire his muscular arse.

He wore a pair of khaki shorts that cut off just at his knee, a pair of boat shoes and a white button down with little golden snitches embroidered in the cotton material. The outfit, paired with his beard and the carefree way his curls tossed about in the breeze, was nearly enough for Hermione to tell him to forget the bloody picnic and invite him back to her flat, but she knew that if she had any chance at making whatever _this_ was into something more, she needed to wait until her fifth date.

"You coming?" Cormac called over his shoulder, jade eyes twinkling at her in the sunlight.

Pulling out of her reverie, Hermione gave a quick nod before double-stepping to fall into stride beside him. "Sorry, just thinking."

"No surprise there," he teased, playfully nudging her with his shoulder as they crossed the lawn. "What's on your mind? Anything I can help with?"

"Oh you know… just thinking about how much of a saint you are for agreeing to my five date rule," Hermione said.

"Sainthood for something as simple as respecting your boundaries?" Cormac's brow rose in mock surprise. "Wow, you must have dated some real gems in the past." Coming to a stop, Cormac set the picnic basket down before rolling out the blanket with a snap before it floated to the ground. Once in place, he turned to face Hermione, extending his hand to her with a charming grin.

"Oh...thanks." Her fingers slipped across his, accepting his hand as he assisted her onto the blanket. It was rather unneeded, but she wasn't going to let the opportunity to touch him pass her by. Reluctantly withdrawing her hand from his, Hermione removed her bag from across her chest before sinking down onto the blanket, kicking out her legs into the summer sun. "And yes, if you're curious, my rule has not always gone over so well. Even some of my friends think my reasoning behind it is a bit absurd."

"What's so absurd about it? You just want to make sure you're interested in the person before getting intimate. Makes sense to me." Cormac settled next to her on the blanket, pulling the wicker basket toward him. Opening the lid, he removed two parchment-wrapped sandwiches, setting one beside himself and holding the other towards her. "Tomato, right?"

"Yes, thank you." Hermione accepted the sandwich, her stomach already rumbling at the thought of it. "I mean, yes. It's about that, but…I guess I'm just trying to make sure that the person is…I don't know…the _one._"

"The one?" Cormac glanced up, lifting a brow as he head cocked to the left. "Aren't we a little young for that?" he said as he held out a small bag of crisps he'd plucked from the picnic basket.

"Well, yes. Of course. I am far from ready to rush down the aisle, but I think I'd very much like to find that person, you know?" Hermione questioned, opening the crisps and popping one into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully before she continued. "I mean, what's wrong with finding your person? It would make this whole dating thing a lot simpler."

Cormac nodded, his shoulders lifting in an indifferent shrug. "I mean, sure I suppose…" His voice trailed off as his eyes dropped to look at the sandwich he was unwrapping.

Hermione dropped her own eyes to her sandwich, busying herself by pushing a fallen tomato back between the bread. Had she said too much? Ginny always told her that her ideas on romance were rather traditional, and people their age were far more interested in dating—and sleeping around. But Cormac was different right? He'd agreed to her five date rule and not once crossed the line during their late night snogging sessions. He was different than the other wizards she'd been with, wasn't he?

"Well, you're worth waiting for…if that's any consolation." His words pulled her attention back up, her heart fluttering against her ribs.

Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip as a slow blush blossomed across her cheeks and she gave him a small nod. Lifting her sandwich she took a small bite, hoping he wouldn't notice the girlish glee his words brought her. "Enough about that. How was work?"

"It's been exhausting." Cormac sighed before leaning back on his elbows, his body stretched out the length of the blanket and he picked up his turkey sub, taking a large bite before continuing through a mouthful of food. "There's a doxy hive outbreak in Wiltshire and it looks like it might be spreading to Dorset. Loads of kids in the ward."

"Doxy hives?" Back when Hermione thought she might still attend Healer training, Madam Pomfrey had gifted her a book on magical maladies for Christmas and she had spent the break devouring it—as per usual since she had always been a voracious reader. And although it had been a number of years since she'd read it, she could vaguely remember something about the illness being nearly eradicated in England since the 1700's.

"I know, right? We're hitting a bit of a snag too, because finding the source of the infection is proving to be more difficult than we originally hoped."

Hermione watched in silence as Cormac's eyes took on a faraway look, his mind clearly back at work, thinking through the possibilities of how the outbreak had started. And while most witches might find his dedication to his work somewhat irritating, Hermione couldn't help but add it to the list of reasons why she liked the wizard—and why Harry was positively wrong.

Cormac wasn't a bad guy, or a sleazeball—or whatever stupid term Harry had used. The Cormac from her past had grown up into a dedicated, kind, and rather fit man. And although she couldn't be certain, Hermione wondered if maybe he was _the one_ she spoke of earlier.

All the signs seemed to point to yes, but something in the back of her mind kept nagging at her, telling her that it was all too good to be true. Pushing the fleeting hesitation from her mind, she told herself it was nothing, perhaps some third date jitters.

* * *

"Her bloody secretary told me she took the afternoon off! Can you believe it?" Harry complained into his pint of ale, his frown deepening. Logic told him he should stop soon, as this was his fourth ale of the evening, but after his long work week, and his fight with Hermione on Monday, he just didn't feel like calling it a night yet. "She wouldn't bloody take off work early when I got Weird Sister tickets last fall, but the moment bloody _Cormac_ suggests it, she's suddenly keen."

It had been nearly a week since their argument in the canteen, and Harry refused to be the first to make contact with her. He wasn't sure if it was wounded pride, or perhaps jealousy, but whatever the case may be, he was _not_ going to give in. Which meant the time he normally spent with the witch was now being spent with a rather perturbed Seamus.

"Uh huh," the Irish wizard mumbled into his pint glass that was being lifted to his lips and he took another large gulp of his lager, not taking his eyes off the grainy television screen that sat on the far wall of the pub.

"I just don't bloody understand why she would be so fooled by him." Harry sighed, setting his glass down on the bar top a bit too forcefully, causing a bit of the foam to slosh over the side and spill across his fingers. "Doesn't she even remember when Aleena from Magical Permits went out with him last year? It's like she is ignoring blatantly obvious signs the guy is a total tosser."

Seamus sighed and the hand not occupied by holding his beer moved to pinch the bridge of his nose as he inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying his best to contain his emotions from what Harry could tell.

Reaching out, Harry set his hand on Seamus' shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. "I know mate, it's not right. Maybe he slipped her a love potion or something. I really ought to put a team on that, because if so, I will have zero problem prosecuting—"

"Salazar's sack Harry!" Seamus rolled his shoulder, causing Harry's hand to drop off, and he spun on the barstool to face his friend, irritation written plainly on his face. "Look, I am far from an expert on heterosexual relationships—"

"Well, no shite," Harry mumbled as he lifted his glass to his mouth.

Seamus reached out, snatching the beer away before even a splash of the goblin-made ale could be tasted. "Excuse me, smartass, do you want my opinion or not?"

"The answer to that depends entirely on whether or not you're going to agree with me ."

"Shut the hell up and listen, Potter." Seamus lifted the half drunk pint glass towards the bartender, motioning for him to come collect it before he set it down just out of Harry's reach. "Anyways, it sounds to me like if she's seeing other people, then you ought to be too, instead of complaining about how this bloke she's dating is an arsehole."

"This bloke? Seamus, you know him. It's bloody _Cormac!_" Harry said, his eyes widening just a fraction to emphasis his point.

"McLaggen?"

"What other bloody Cormac to you know?" Harry said quizzically, his brow knitting. Merlin, he knew Seamus wasn't sharp with the details, but he didn't think he needed to spell it out for him. After all, he'd use the wanker's bloody name more than once!

"None, I suppose? But to be fair, I don't pay attention to the heteronormative dating games you all play. It's far too confusing to keep up with who is shagging who and, truthfully, rather dull," Seamus said, waving his hand dismissively, his eyes rolling. "But that's beside the point. Sure, Cormac is a wanker, but you need to stop investing all your -and _my- _energy on something you're not going to be able to fix. This is the perfect opportunity for you two to stop shagging each other, and move on to more serious prospects."

Harry groaned, his elbows planting into the wooden bartop, cradling his face in his hands. Seamus was right—of course he was, but fuck it all if Harry wasn't ready to throw in the towel on what he and Hermione had started. It was convenient, and for the most part, drama-free. "But I like our arrangement."

Seamus let out a long suffering sigh that pulled Harry's attention back over to him. "Are you sure you don't just like _her?"_

"What?!" Harry blanched, his spine straightening at the accusation. "No. No way. Hermione is my friend."

"Riiight. And Dean was just my roommate," Seamus said with a roll of his eyes, his lips pursing just enough to convey his disbelief.

"It's not like that at all!"

"Whatever disillusion you want to believe," Seamus said as he turned in his barstool to face the television once more, his fingers drumming idly on the bartop.

Harry's face pinched, eyes narrowing on the back of the Irish wizard's head. "I'm serious! I don't bloody like her—not like that at least," Harry insisted, and, leaning back, he crossed his arms over his chest, the motion straining the buttons on his Auror uniform.

"Okay, fine. Since you _don't like her_, why not go talk to that redhead who's been eye fucking you from across the room all night?" Seamus said, glancing over his shoulder to catch Harry's eye before he nodded towards the opposite end of the bar they sat at.

"What? What are you talking about?" Harry's head turned, following Seamus' gesture. He'd been at the bar for nearly an hour and a half now and had not noticed anyone making eyes at him, let alone _eye fucking _him as Seamus so eloquently stated.

Emerald eyes traveled through the crowded room curiously, flitting from table to table before landing on a small group of witches who sat tucked in the far corner. And there, sandwiched between two blondes with canary yellow hair sat a redhead. Her flaming hair was like a beacon in the dark room; how he had managed to not notice before was beyond him, because now that he had seen her, it seemed nearly impossible to ignore her.

She was attractive, someone Harry would consider out of his league by her impeccably put together appearance. They were in the bloody Leaky and she was wearing a dress more meant for clubbing down the road at one of Malfoy's latest establishments. Since the end of the war Harry had become familiar with witches like that. Attention seekers. Only after him for his name, and nothing else. "No…no way, mate."

"And why not?" Seamus pressed. "She's a redhead. I remember you possibly having a thing for gingers back at Hogwarts. I'm not asking you to let her move in with you, I'm simply pointing out a good roll around the sack might pull you out of this piss poor mood that you've been in for nearly two weeks."

"Because…" Harry's voice trailed off, his mind suddenly drawing a blank. He truthfully didn't have a real reason why he couldn't approach her, but even the idea made his stomach sour.

"Because you fancy Hermione." Seamus lifted his pint and took a long draw, his brows lifting.

Harry's eyes narrowed on his friend, his jaw working like he had a mouthful of tacks before he pushed away from the bar. "You know what? Fine. I will." Harry said with clipped words, snatching the half-drunk beer from his friend's hand and before Seamus could protest, he drank the remainder of the barely cold lager and then set the glass down with a loud thunk.

"Thata' boy." Seamus said with mock enthusiasm, waving dismissively at Harry before turning his attention back to the Quidditch game.

Harry moved across the busy bar, shouldering past wizards and witches who lingered about sharing pints to celebrate the end of their work week. His Auror robes brushed across the floor with each step he took, his ministry-issued boots making a squelching sound as he moved across the old wooden floor that was sticky from spilled drinks.

Approaching the table, Harry watched as the witches whispered frantically to each other, their words lost over the sound of the crowd around him. His hand found the back of an empty wooden chair at their table, and he curled his hand around it for support as he forced a charming grin on his lips that he was positive wouldn't quite meet his eyes. His friends would have been able to tell he wasn't truly happy or comfortable approaching the table of witches like this, but these women wouldn't be able to see past the façade he'd put on.

"Hi," he called over the music, locking eyes with the woman he'd admired from across the bar. From up close all the beauty he thought he had seen seemed faded, hidden under layers of cakey makeup and beauty charms. "I'm Harry."

The redhead smiled, leaning over the table, as if to make sure he got a good eyeful of the assets that lay beneath her dress. "Oh… I know exactly who you are, Mr. Potter."

* * *

_1\. No Kissing_  
_2\. No One Knows_  
_3\. No Sleepovers_  
_4\. No Cuddling_  
_5\. No Romance_  
_6\. No Expectations_  
7\. No Asking About The Other Person's Dates  
_8\. No Jealousy_  
9\. No Going on Dates with Each other  
10\. No Falling in Love


	9. Chapter 9

Harry should have known the moment the redhead from the bar introduced herself as Kitty that there would be issues. In his limited experience, it was never a good sign that people opted to go by pet names instead of their birth names. But he chose to ignore such an obvious red flag, if only to prove Seamus and Hermione wrong.

He should not have agreed to meet her for drinks on a Tuesday night, knowing full well that it would give her the wrong impression. After chatting with her in the pub on Saturday, it became painfully obvious they were not exactly on the same page with...well, anything. She was young, just having graduated from Hogwarts, and was as green as one could imagine. And quite frankly, Harry was rather over hearing about teenage drama when he had real problems—like bills to pay, and best friends who were still not on speaking terms with him. But, drinks did sound enticing after his shite day at the Ministry. And he was thirsty.

While agreeing to weeknight drinks could be an innocuous mistake easily forgiven, Harry instead compounded his bad decisions. What he most definitely should _not_ have done after the first mistake, was invite Kitty back to Grimmauld Place. It could have been the three pints, or perhaps the rather low cut blouse she wore, but whatever the reason, she was here...in his home...sitting painfully close to him on his couch as Harry looked helplessly at his television, watching the grainy images from the Quidditch World Cup qualifying match.

He could not give two fucks if the Braga Broomfleet defeated the Quiberon Quafflepunchers, but Merlin knows it was a lot better than having an actual conversation with the witch. The match was almost over, judging by the fact the Quafflepunchers were dominating the field, and it couldn't last more than another hour. Which would allow Harry the perfect opportunity to claim he was tired and ask her to leave.

He just needed to make it one more hour.

One more, excruciatingly long hour.

Harry twisted his bottle of beer between his fingertips, glancing nervously out of the corner of his eye to the redheaded witch who seemed far more interested in staring at him than watching the tv. At first he thought he might have something on his face, but now he was beginning to doubt her sanity. Forcing a smile onto his lips, he lifted his beer to gesture towards the television. "Good game, huh?" he mumbled before taking a hasty sip.

"I wouldn't know. I don't watch the picture box," Kitty replied plainly, not peeling her blue eyes from him even once. "I've heard it can literally explode your magic. That's part of the reason why Muggles are Muggles, you know?"

Harry's brow knit as he gulped down another mouthful of ale and he turned to look at her straight on. He'd heard a lot of misconceptions about Muggles and their technology before, but even that was a stretch. "Uhh...I don't think that's actually true."

"Oh no, it is!" Kitty insisted, her eyes widening as she shook her head. Tucking her legs under her bum, she turned so she faced him completely, her body perching on the couch half a foot from him. "Lithany's friend's grandmother's aunt's next door neighbor had it happen. One day, she was completely normal, the next—" Her fingers went to her temples, before she made a small explosion noise as she gestured out from her head with splayed hands. "—completely melted."

Harry nodded slowly, his jaw hung open in disbelief. As he sat there, watching her stare at him with wide eyes and a look that put into question just how sane this woman actually was, Harry realised he wasn't sure he could actually make it another hour in her presence. Clearing his throat, Harry turned to look back at the television unseeing, trying to think up an excuse—any excuse that would get her out of his house.

Maybe he could have a sudden bout of Boggart Boogies?

Or maybe an upset stomach?

Or _maybe_ he could just pretend to fall asleep, or die. Both of which were very viable options.

And just as he began to formulate how he could fake his own death, his mobile phone beside him on the end table began to buzz.

"Oh thank Godric," he said a bit louder than intended as he lunged to pick it up, nearly spilling his beer in his rush to set it down before he picked up the small silver Nokia. He flipped the phone over in his hand to see who he would need to thank later for saving him from finishing this conversation. The blocky green letters flashed _Andromeda Tonks_.

Andi and he had kept in constant communication since the end of the war. Although their conversations tended to center around his godson and the day-to-day events in the six-year-old's life, Harry knew that the witch also liked to keep tabs on him. Making sure he had a full fridge, and wasn't forgetting to eat...or shave his beard. She made it very clear on more than one occasion she was not fond of the _scruffy look_ he normally came back from his stakeout missions with.

Harry cut his eyes across the couch, flashing a sympathetic smile to the redheaded witch before he lifted his index finger to indicate he needed just a moment before he flipped the phone open. "Hullo Andi, everything alright?"

"Oh yes, everything's fine. Sorry to call so late," the familiar feminine tone came through the tiny speaker, pulling a smile to his lips almost immediately. "I just wanted to confirm our plans for summer holiday."

"Andi. It's barely eight, it's far from late," he said with a laugh, reclining back and propping his elbow up on the arm of the couch before kicking his socked feet up on his table. "I've been meaning to pop by, sorry. Work has been hectic lately."

"I can only imagine. I've seen your name in the papers a few times lately, and not in the tabloids section!" Andromeda teased. On her end, Harry could hear the sound of drawers opening and closing, and the occasional rattle of flatware. By his estimate, she had likely tucked Teddy into bed and was looking for her wine opener, which the witch had a notoriously bad habit of misplacing. "Anyway, are you still planning on coming to Gull's Hollow with us this year?"

"Of course, I wouldn't miss it for the world," Harry said quickly. He dedicated his summer holiday every year to spending time at the beach with Andromeda and Teddy. The first year had been a way to remember Remus and Tonks—taking Teddy to the place the newlyweds had squirreled away for two whole days during the war to celebrate their nuptials- but it had become a routine over the last five years. Something Harry looked forward to. A week without work, without press, without any of life's stressors. Just his godson, Andi and the crashing sound of waves to reset him until the next year. "You know you don't even need to ask anymore. I've told you I will always make sure to be there."

"Oh I know, I know. I just didn't want to assume you were free. You are getting older and who knows, maybe one day you'll have a nice witch to spend your holiday with."

The soft _pop_ from the wine cork echoed into the receiver and Harry could hear the soft tink of glass on glass. His free hand went to the top of his head, carding through his untidy hair out of habit. "Let's not even get started down that route again, please," Harry smirked. "Regardless, my schedule is cleared for the week. Seamus is covering me and I've got my trunk out, ready for packing."

"Splendid. Teddy will be so excited to hear that. And do tell Seamus thank you for stepping up in your absence. I've always liked that boy—maybe I'll send him a basket of sweets as a thank you."

"Oh gods, please don't. He doesn't need any more reason to think he's doing me a favor by doing his job." Harry laughed.

"It wouldn't be an issue! I'm already sending one to Percy for covering Kingsley, it would be no trouble at all to thank Seamus."

Harry's brows shot up his forehead and he cleared his throat as he leaned forward, pressing both of his elbows into his thighs. "Covering Kings?" Harry repeated, wanting to make sure he'd heard her right.

Andromeda and Kingsley had been casually dating for the past year and a half. Harry was well aware of their slow romance, as he had taken Teddy on various weekends nights over the last couple months so the couple could go out without a child underfoot. They had only ever had one conversation about the slowly blossoming romance, and at the time Andi had been rather tight-lipped about the whole thing. He could only imagine how difficult it would be to date after losing Ted, and truthfully, he was glad she was putting her heart out there again.

"Oh yes. Didn't I tell you I invited Kingsley this year?" Andromeda said rather quickly.

"No…"

"Oh I'm sure I mentioned it before now." Harry could practically hear her wave her hand about, as she normally did in that motherly, dismissive manner that she tended to do when flustered.

"Now I know I am forgetful, but I'm fairly certain I would have remembered you telling me if he was joining us, Andromeda."

"Andromeda?" the red-head said loudly, pulling his attention over to her, and before he could prevent it, she was crawling across his couch towards him until her knees pressed into the outside of his thigh. "Who the hell is Andromeda?"

"Harry, do you have a witch over?" Andi sputtered mid-drink. "Harry you should have told me! I can let you go; we can discuss the details later."

"Wait! No it's okay, really!" Harry said, scooting over on the couch to provide himself more room between himself and the overbearing witch. Moving his free hand to cover the microphone on the bottom of his mobile, he turned to look at Kitty. "She's my godson's grandma."

"She better be, or else I might have to get angry," Kitty warned before lifting her hand to swat at him with curled fingers as she let a low hiss out. "You won't like it when Kitty gets angry."

"Oh Merlin," Harry breathed, uncovering the receiver to reach up and pinch the bridge of his nose with a heavy exhale. "You know what, Andi? I'll just pop by tomorrow after work, is that okay?"

"Of course! We can do dinner and talk about…whoever you have over."

"I'd rather not, if I'm being honest," Harry muttered quickly, wincing when Kitty wound her arms around his shoulders and she pulled him towards her in a firm embrace. "Give Teddy a hug and a kiss for me. I'll be by around five-thirty."

"Of course—again, sorry for calling and interrupting your evening."

"Seriously, don't. I…I—"

"It's time for Harry to get off the phone," Kitty whined, leaning in to run the tip of her nose across his cheek as an odd purr emanated from the back of her throat and sounded more like nails on a chalkboard than something even remotely alluring.

"On that note. Have a lovely evening, Harry," Andromeda said, clearly doing her best to contain her laughter by the way she tried to cover it with a low cough.

"You too Andi," Harry said before snapping the phone shut. His hand curled around the small silver device, holding it tightly as he took a deep breath, preparing himself for what was sure to be a row of sorts when he asked the witch to leave. In the back of his mind he was already thinking of how quickly he could change the charm on his house as to make it unplottable to the redhead. With what pull he had at the Ministry, he was almost certain he could have it done by the end of the week if he was lucky.

And even now, as his mind raced, his thoughts couldn't help but return to Hermione. If they were still talking he could just turn to her for help. She probably knew the very enchantment needed, but since she was still upset, he highly doubted she'd be willing to listen to his plea, which meant he had to ask Seamus-something he was positive the Irish wizard would take great joy in ribbing him over.

Just as he opened his mouth to tell Kitty it was time for her to leave, his head was turned forcefully towards the witch and her tongue connected with the top of his forehead where his scar began. In a slow long stroke, she ran her mouth across his forehead, over his eyebrow and down the side of his face.

Harry's mouth hung open as all his thoughts came to a screeching halt. He had dealt with his fair share of oddities that come with being famous. Requests for autographs, women leaving him lewd packages at work, even the occasional harmless stalker, but this…this was something he had _never_ experienced before. Someone licking his scar. _Licking_ any part of him that was not below his beltline.

As the witch pulled back, looking at him in a possessive manor, a wicked smile stretched across her painted lips, Harry realised now more than ever that he was not going to make it another hour with her in his home. "Uh… you need to leave. _Now," _he blurted in one breath, his hands moving to pry her fingers from his cheeks. There was a reason he didn't date women he picked up from bars. There was a reason he had started his casual intimacy with Hermione. And as he watched the redhead's features morph into a twisted sneer of shock and disbelief, he couldn't help but wonder if it was too late to apologize to Hermione. Because even if she had started dating England's biggest arsehole, at least she would have been able to stop him from making this very bad decision.

* * *

Hermione checked her hair in the bathroom mirror one last time, twisting the curls that framed her face around her fingers to encourage them into gentle corkscrews before she adjusted her bra until her cleavage sat just right in the low-cut floral dress she'd picked out earlier this morning.

Today was Date Five.

The glorious, long awaited fifth date.

Shifting from one foot to the other, she did a final once over in the mirror before she used a low level cooling charm under her arms to hide evidence of her nervousness. After all, aside from what she had going on with Harry, Cormac would potentially be the first wizard she'd slept with since ending her fling with Allister from accounting nearly eight months ago.

With everything seemingly in place, and her breath no longer stinking of garlic and onions from the Greek restaurant she'd selected for dinner, Hermione opened her washroom door and moved back towards her living room.

Cormac was sitting on her couch, legs spread out across both cushions. If he were anyone else, it might rub her the wrong way—his man-spreading, taking up as much space as possible just because he could. But for some reason, she couldn't help but find the act almost endearing. As if it showed his comfort in her home.

Clearing her throat, Hermione leaned against the entryway into her living room, her shoulder pressing into the wood as she crossed her legs at the ankle. "So, you know what today is, right?"

Cormac tipped his head back, golden curls contrasting against the dark gray fabric of her couch, making them look more like a halo than they did before. "Uh… Friday?" he questioned before checking his wristwatch to confirm.

Hermione let out a short laugh and she nodded, and pushing off the wall, she began around her couch until she stood in front of him, her bare feet touching the edge of the couch as she moved between his parted knees. "While you're not wrong, I was looking for something more specific."

Cormac reached out and put his hands on her waist, his thumbs stroking across her hip bones as he smiled up to her with that grin that made her knees weak. The one where his eyes crinkled, and the light inside them sparked just a bit more than normal. "Well, I'm ninety percent sure it's not your birthday, and I know it's not mine," he said as he tugged her forward until her knees sank into the couch cushion between his thighs. In one swift movement, his hands tightened on her hips and he lifted her up, pulling her into straddling his lap.

She let out a small squeak in surprise, her arms winding around his neck as her chest met his, and she shivered when she felt his enormous hands move over her hips to cup her backside as he tucked her against his body.

Before she could speak, his lips were on hers. Her fingers slipped into the clipped curls on the back of his head, and her soft mews of encouragement were swallowed up by his far too gifted mouth as she gave in, allowing herself to get lost in his touch for just a second before she pulled away, her nose brushing his. "It's…uh…It's date number five."

She could feel Cormac's smile against her own, and a thrill of electricity ran down the length of her spine directly to her core when his hands curled almost possessively into her backside. "Oh, is it?" he questioned, his voice barely a whisper but already low and gravelly with need. "I wasn't counting."

Hermione allowed her body to melt into his, and before she could begin to process how quickly it was all happening, she was suddenly underneath him and his hands were sliding up her thighs. "Wait," she whispered, breaking their kiss and she pushed on his chest gently until he hovered above her.

"W-What? Everything okay?" Cormac breathed, his brow knitting.

"Yeah. It's fine—er…great! Just… the light," she said, gesturing towards the ceiling before she bit her bottom lip nervously.

"Oh...okay."

Twisting her body, Hermione stretched to reach her wand before she fell back on the couch. Lifting it towards the ceiling fan light, she muttered a soft "_Nox!_" and extinguished the only light source for this part of her house.

Now shrouded in a comforting layer of darkness that would surely hide all the flaws etched into her skin, Hermione tossed her wand back on the coffee table before looping an arm back around Cormac's neck and pulling him back toward her until their lips locked once again.

* * *

Early morning light trickled across her skin, sunning her bare back until the heat pulled her from sleep. Light night had been… well, it hadn't been as mind-blowing as she'd hoped, but it was a promising start.

She tried not to compare him to Harry, but it was hard not to when she went from having mind-numbing release after release to barely being able to climax. She'd chalk it up to their first time together—after all, Cormac didn't know her body as well as Harry did. Not yet at least.

Her arms rose above her head in a lazy stretch. Behind her she could feel Cormac's hard body, his right arm draped loosely over her hip as he slept. She could feel his heavy breath puff the baby curls on the base of her neck, tickling her with each exhale.

Careful not to wake him, Hermione moved from his embrace to fish around for her knickers on the living room floor before she shimmied them on her hips. As soon as her feet touched the hardwood, the sound of a low yowl echoed to her from the kitchen. Crookshanks, ever the punctual creature, was likely already at his bowl, awaiting his breakfast.

"Shh!" Hermione picked up her bralette and shimmied it on as she padded across the room towards her kitchen, where the aging ball of orange fur sat in front of his bowl, his tail swishing impatiently.

"Good morning to you too, mister," Hermione whispered to the beast, bending down to scratch behind his ear before she moved to the low cupboard that contained his kibble. She grabbed a scoopful and poured it into his bowl, careful to do it as quietly as possible as not to wake Cormac.

Crookshanks meowed his thank you, as he did every morning, before cutting his yellow eyes at her, as if to say 'about damn time,' before he moved to crunch on the dried food.

Hermione shook her head, laughing softly at the temperamental creature before she moved to her tall cupboard in search of tea. Grabbing her tin, she gave it a small shake and when the normal sound of leaves scratching on the inside of the container didn't sound, she let out a small groan.

Prying open the lid, just to double check, only the left over remnants of earl gray remained in the bottom. With a heavy sigh, she set the container back on the shelf and turned to look over her countertop at the wizard who lay fast asleep on her couch.

There wasn't enough time to run to the grocer at the end of her street, especially on foot. But two buildings up from hers sat a tiny little bakery that would have just what she needed, at least until she could make it to the store later. That, and she wouldn't be asked to make breakfast if she could pick up some pastries, which in her book was more than a win.

Tip-toeing to her bedroom, Hermione slipped on a pair of black yoga pants and a loose-fitting t-shirt. Pulling her wild curls up into a loose bun on the top of her head, she did one final check in the mirror to make sure she looked less homeless, and more disheveledly cute, she moved back into the living room to retrieve her wand and wallet.

She moved quickly out of her building, giving a cheerful good morning wave to the old lady from the second floor with the gray poodle before exiting the building. Her step held a spring that hadn't been there the night before. Although they had not spoken about the future between the two of them, Hermione couldn't help but wonder if perhaps what she found with Cormac was more than just a fling.

After all, he had waited until the fifth date.

Purchasing two large cups of earl gray, and two cheese pastries, Hermione paid the teenaged shopkeep before moving down the road, chewing her lip as thoughts of how she might see what Cormac had planned for the summer holiday flitted through her mind. He was a new Healer, so he'd likely be on schedule. She hadn't made plans as of yet, and while everyone took off to beachy vacations, she wondered if it might be fun to get together with him over the week. Maybe even a sleepover or two if she planned her cards right.

With her food in hand, Hermione moved out of the shop and down the road, her flip flops snapping loudly on the cement as she hurried up the road to return to her flat before Cormac woke. Just a few yards from the front of her building, she dodged a dog-walker, careful to avoid spilling the hot beverages down her arm and as she looked up, she watched Cormac slip from her building.

He was fastening his shirt from the night before, hastily working his way down the row of buttons as he moved onto the sidewalk, looking up and down the street as if searching for her.

Hermione's smile widened, watching as the sun made his curls come to life. The gold shimmered as he moved away from her. "Cormac!" she called out, double-stepping as she moved towards him to catch up. "Cormac, over here!"

Her quick gait slowed as she approached, and although she couldn't be certain, she thought she saw him flinch when she called his name. She shrugged it off, thinking it silly, because why would he flinch from her? Especially after the night they had. She pushed the thought away and instead held her smile as she approached. "Hey. I got you a cup of tea from the bakery. I ran out and figured I'd surprise you."

Cormac's normal jovial grin looked forced as he nodded at her, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck. "Oh…Uh, thanks?" he said uncertainly, jade green eyes flashing down to the cups in her hands before looking back up to her eyes. "I actually have to go though."

Hermione's forehead wrinkled as she knit her brows. The hand that had begun to extend to offer him his cup of tea pulled back and she cocked her head to the side. "You…have to go?"

"Yeah…I'm, uh…I'm on call."

And just like that, the wool that had been covering her eyes for the past several weeks was pulled back. Instead of the Greek god of a man she'd been pining after, in front of her stood the same idiot boy she'd attended Slug Club with. The same idiot boy who lied to his friends and started rumours about snogging her in the corridors. The same idiot boy who Harry warned her about.

She didn't know who she was more disappointed with though: herself for believing he might have changed, or him for lying to her when she knew damn well he wasn't on call this week. Shaking her head, her mouth pulled down in a deep frown. "Are you—were you trying to sneak out, Cormac?"

"What?" Cormac let out a nervous laugh, his eyes widening just a bit, giving away his guilt. "Of course I wasn't!"

"Oh my gods. You _were_." Hermione cursed as she took a step back from him, putting as much space between them as possible as a wave of nausea set in. She'd literally ruined her friendship with Harry over him! She'd changed plans for weeks just to accommodate his schedule, and all for what? A single lousy fuck? One in which she had to use her own fingers to get herself off ?! "I can't bloody believe this. I'm such an idiot."

"Hermione, it's not like that," Cormac sighed, his forehead wrinkling as he furrowed his brows, glancing down at the sidewalk as if he was physically unable to look at her. "I just… I really enjoyed our time together, but I just don't think I'm the guy you're looking for. You have all these expectations and—"

Her jaw dropped and her fingers tightened their hold on the hot teas until the paper cups began to cave in protest. Had she not had excellent control over her magic since the age of twelve, she might have actually blown a lamp or two to millions of tiny pieces. How dare he try to turn this around on her. Like her ideals regarding love and relationships were so unrealistic. Did she like watching romantic movies, and pine over finding her true love? Sure, but at the end of the day she wasn't looking for a Mr. Darcy to come sweep her off her feet! She wanted a man who wanted to spend time with her, who woke up thinking of her, and went to bed with her on his mind. Who brought her flowers just because, or left her little love notes in her lunch. She wasn't looking for grand gestures, or expensive things, but rather love. Real love.

"You know what, Cormac? No," Hermione snapped, cutting him off mid-sentence, her lips thinning as she narrowed her eyes on him. "You don't get to finish that sentence because we're done. I don't give a damn what you think."

"Excuse me?" Cormac laughed in disbelief.

"You heard me, you jerk," Hermione snapped before moving forward, slamming the bag of pastries into the center of his chest, making sure to smash the cheese Danish in the process before she shouldered past him towards the entrance to her building. "I thought you were bloody different, but clearly you're just like every other arsehole I've dated."

"Oh come on, Hermione! It's not like that."

As opposed to responding, Hermione dumped the cups of tea in the receptacle outside her flat. When Cormac made another call of her name, she lifted her hand in a two-fingers salute in his general direction before she disappeared inside her building, letting the heavy glass door slam shut behind her as she ran towards the stairs, not really feeling like she could make it through the wait for the lift to arrive. Not when she had to go up and wash the stench of pompous jerk off of her skin.

* * *

1_. No Kissing_  
_2\. No One Knows_  
_3\. No Sleepovers_  
_4\. No Cuddling_  
_5\. No Romance_  
_6\. No Expectations_  
7\. No Asking About The Other Person's Dates  
8\. _No Jealousy_  
9\. No Going on Dates with Each other  
10\. No Falling in Love


	10. Chapter 10

This wasn't an apology.

She was hungry, and frankly—still pretty pissed off about the whole Cormac situation. She'd gone through four bottles of wine over the past two days and drinking alone was not a sport she was willing to keep signing up for.

This was a means to consume alcohol and greasy food in a socially acceptable manner. This was because even though he was a right git sometimes and had this bloody mind-blowing ability to put his size twelve foot so far in his mouth that she was nearly certain it might lodge in his throat and choke him—Harry was still her friend. Her _best_ friend. And she bloody missed him. Especially at three in the morning after eating an entire box of blueberry pie ice-lollies.

It was _definitely_ not an apology.

It was—at most—an olive branch to mend the Cormac-sized wedge that had forged between them over the past couple weeks.

Pushing her pride down, Hermione took one last breath before lifting her hand to rap on the poorly painted black door of Grimmauld Place. The tarnished gold griffin knocker stared crudely back at her, its chipped eyes judging her in the way only an inanimate object could.

Her hand curled tightly around the cardboard sixer she held, the cheap handle digging into her fingers as she shifted her weight nervously from hip to hip. Behind the closed door she could hear heavy footsteps approach, the gait long and sloppy—clearly Harry'd either just woken from a nap on his couch, or was moments away from drifting off. It was Friday night, and by all accounts Harry should be out. He was a single, eligible bachelor who had fame and quite a bit of fortune to toss around to his advantage, but if Hermione knew him as well as she thought she did, he was still recovering from his unit's latest arrest on Wednesday evening.

The metal slide of the peep hole could be heard, and she glanced up to the small magical eye, watching it swivel towards her and silently she lifted her hands to show the case of Muggle beer and a greasy white paper takeaway bag bearing the red and navy logo of the burger place up the street from her flat.

Her breath caught in her throat when she heard the peep hole close, the magical eye returning to its dormant glassy sheen. When the door did not immediately open, she began to wonder what on earth she was going to do with an extra burger. Thankfully, before her thoughts wandered too far, the door was opened to reveal a sleepy Harry still dressed in his rumpled Auror robes.

He had a hand underneath his glasses, his fingers rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he leaned on the front door. "American style?" he mumbled, dropping his hand to his side after he adjusted his thick black frames up his nose.

"Extra pickles, hold the mustard." Hermione extended her arm toward him, offering the takeaway bag for his inspection and when he took it from her, unrolling the top to peer inside, the worry she'd held moments earlier that he was going to ignore her peace offering began to disappear. After all, this was Harry. Her best friend. The wizard who stood by her through thick and thin. Something as stupid as a fight over a wizard wasn't going to completely ruin their friendship—was it?

"One order of chips?" Harry questioned as he peered into the bag, glancing up with a cocked brow as he fished out a single chip from the bag and took a bite.

Hermione shrugged, her free hand sliding into the front pocket of her denim trousers. "Wasn't really in the mood for them."

"Well, don't ask for any of mine," Harry took a step back and leaned against the wall, holding the door open with his leg as he began to dig into the bag to retrieve more chips. "I'm not sharing."

A heavy breath escaped her lips, a mixture of relief and mild annoyance. His petulant answer obviously meant he was still harbouring ill-will about the last time they spoke, but he was willing to allow her to come in, which was at least a good sign, right? "I won't ask," she replied as she crossed the threshold into his home and toed her shoes off by the front door as she often did—childhood habits were always the hardest to break.

Reaching out, she plucked the chip that hung between his lips and playfully popped it into her mouth, winking at him as she tried to suppress a grin when Harry pretended to be outraged by her behaviour. But this game they played was nearly as old as their friendship. Her not ordering chips, and stealing a couple of his. It was _their_ thing—something that had annoyed many of her previous suitors.

Hermione began down the hallway, not bothering to wait for Harry to lead the way since she knew it well. She could hear the front door close behind her and the deadbolt slide shut before the sound of Harry's bare feet could be heard slapping against the wooden floor as he made his way into the sitting room.

She set the sixer down on his coffee table and took one of the cold brews as she settled onto his couch. Retrieving her wand from her pocket, she set it on the side table before she twisted the cap from the bottle and tossed it beside her vinewood.

"So is this an apology?"

Hermione glanced up, watching Harry settle down beside her on the middle cushion as opposed to the far end of the couch, and a small blossom of happiness began to warm her belly. "Not really…" She took a sip of her ale, letting the frothy beer dance across her tongue before she began to roll the bottle between her two palms once she'd pulled it from her lips. "It's more of a 'we both fucked up, let's go back to being friends' kind of thing."

Harry nodded slowly, his lips pursing together as he leaned and plucked a bottle from the cardboard case. Twisting the cap, he tossed it on the coffee table, letting the cap's rattle fill the silence that began to bloom to life between them. "I like that answer," he said before taking a slow drag from his beer. He set the bag of food between them, unfurling the top and reaching in and pulling out a paper-wrapped hamburger. "It allows us to both be absolved of any guilt."

Hermione took her burger from Harry and unwrapped it, careful to avoid spilling any ketchup or mustard on his furniture. "Exactly. No one's at fault," she agreed, the corner of her lips pulling up just slightly as she glanced up to him before taking a bite.

"I suppose they don't call you the cleverest witch for nothing." Harry tipped his burger towards her in a salute of sorts before he took a large mouthful. His eyes closed in temporary bliss as he emitted a low hum of approval; a dollop of mayonnaise and ketchup dribbled on the corner of his mouth.

"Yes. My ability to avoid conflict by shifting blame to no one is absolutely worthy of that atrocious nickname," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes, shifting her body until her back pressed against the arm of the couch, and crossing her legs over one another.

"Well it's either that, or something to do with your test scores. But honestly, does that even count? You were cheating after all."

"Excuse me?" Hermione's mouth opened, her eyes widening. "I would _never_ cheat!"

Harry held up a finger as he quickly chewed his bit of burger, and with a quick gulp of beer to wash it down, he continued. "Look, all I'm saying it that technically we have no way of knowing precisely what you did with that time turner during third year—"

Hermione let out a hollow laugh and she extended her legs to kick him in the thigh. "You know damn well I didn't use it to cheat!"

Harry reached out, his hand curling around her ankle and he gave her leg a quick tug, causing her to slip down his sofa. "I know, but I love watching you become so indignant about it all."

"You're such an arse, Harry."

Harry shrugged, using the back of his hand to wipe at his mouth. "Yeah, but I'm your best friend, so I think that means you're stuck with me," he said matter-of-factly, winking at her before taking another large bite of food .

Hermione nodded in agreement, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she watched him work his way through his burger, pausing only to take a bite of his chips or large pulls from his beer. This comfortable ease she felt with him seemed to transcend any row that they had had, and in truth, it was precisely what she had been missing for the past couple weeks. She'd been so wrapped up in Cormac, she never even noticed that piece of her was missing until just now.

"So…how's Cormac?" Harry said, suddenly rather interested in inspecting the chips in the bottom of the white paper bag that sat between them. Keeping his gaze from hers was a sign she was all too familiar with from the raven haired wizard. He was nervous as to what the answer would be, and she knew that he knew his eyes would betray him if her answer was not what he wanted to hear.

Hermione reached out and laid her burger on the coffee table, careful to tuck the wrapping underneath it before she laid back on the couch, letting the arm prop her head up as she laced her hands over her abdomen. Almost immediately she could feel a shift in the emotions that ran beneath the surface of Harry's attempted expressionless face. He was apparently no longer apprehensive about looking at her, his brow furrowing as he turned to face her, worry written in his eyes at her lack of response.

"I uh...I would imagine he's doing well," she said carefully. Pausing to take a deep breath, she could feel her own emotions that she'd tried so hard to tamper begin to flare to life inside her. She wasn't sad about what had happened—gods no. Cormac was an arsehole who didn't deserve the dirt beneath her trainers, let alone her tears. No, she was absolutely mortified she got so wrapped up in the game he was so obviously playing with her. She was embarrassed she let herself fall for pretty words and false promises when it was so bloody blatant he was only interested in one damn thing. She had been but a notch in his belt, a bragging right he would likely tell his buddies, and anyone else who would listen, over drinks. He got to fuck Hermione Granger, the Ministry's Golden Girl. Like it was a Godric damn badge of honour, getting to share her bed—or in his case, couch-for the night.

Shaking her head, she lifted her eyes away from Harry, no longer able to look at him as his expression threatened to crack the walls she had built since the morning she found out what Cormac was _really_ like. "We aren't seeing each other anymore…" Her voice faded and she bit her bottom lip, letting out a heavy sigh that expelled all the air from her lungs. "You were right…He's an arsehole."

She heard the crumpling of paper, and before she could prevent it, she felt Harry's hands curl around her wrists and in one swift motion she was pulled into his lap. His embrace wasn't sexual, as had been the nature of their relationship for the past few months. It was like home: a warm, comforting hold that let her know without words he was sorry for whatever she was going through. That no matter what, he'd be there. One of his hands rested on her upper back, his fingers spread out, touching both of her shoulder blades, while his other ran comfortingly along her spine.

Hermione's arms instinctively wrapped around his middle, her face pressing to the centre of his chest and she took a slow, deep, lung-rattling breath, burying herself in him, letting herself get lost in his scent and his touch. Her fingers curled into his shirt and she let loose a heavy sigh that seemed to pull the weight that had sat on her shoulders for the past couple days free from her body. She lay silent for what felt like hours, listening to the slow and steady pace of Harry's heartbeat, letting it bring a sense of calm over her.

It was moments like these, the times where Harry set aside his own feelings to make sure she was okay, that solidified all of the reasons they were best friends. It had happened more than she cared to admit over the years. Growing up in a castle thousands of miles from home resulted in many growing pains, and every single time Harry had been there to help her through. Fourth year, fighting with Ron at the Yule Ball, Harry had been the one to check on her and make sure she was alright. Sixth year, when the Lavender debacle happened, Harry wiped her tears in the north tower. While Horcrux hunting, it was Harry who stayed up with her those cold and lonely nights, taking extra shifts wearing the necklace, because he wanted to make sure she was okay.

"I could arrest him, you know?" Harry whispered, his breath stirring the curls on the crown of her head.

The question pulled her back to the present, and stole a short laugh from her throat. Lifting her head from his chest, Hermione shook her head. "For what? Being a total wanker? I'm fairly certain that's not illegal."

Harry's lips pursed and he gave a defeated shrug, his fingers still trailing up her spine. "Okay, fine. How about I just go kick his arse?" he suggested, leaning back until his head rested on the couch cushion, causing his hair to stand in soft peaks. "I'll just pop into his work, rough him up a bit and threaten him into silence."

"He works with children, Harry."

"And? I didn't say I would do it _in front_ of them. St Mungo's has break rooms, doesn't it?"

Hermione laughed again; this time it was accompanied with a wide smile. Leaning forward she pressed her lips against his stubbled cheek before she maneuvered off his lap and back onto the couch beside him. "No, thank you though. You're offer is quite sweet…if not a little brash."

Harry looped his arm over her shoulders and pulled her towards him with a gentle motion. "Well, it still stands should you change your mind."

Hermione nodded, letting her head fall against his shoulder as she folded her hands in her lap, soaking in the comfort of his friendship for a moment longer before she turned her head to look at him. "But…this whole Cormac thing…it did make me realise that…well, maybe it's better if we stop shagging."

"Oh?" Harry glanced down at her, his brows raised, and if she wasn't mistaken the twinkle in his eye felt almost mournful instead of curious.

"Yeah," she confirmed with a small nod, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips nervously. "This whole thing with Cormac didn't work out—obviously, but it made me realise that I miss it...the whole dating thing, that is."

Harry looked away, his eyes cast across the room at the fireplace that still had low embers burning in the hearth, and she could feel him stiffen beside her, his body bristling for just a moment before the tension faded away. Once she felt him relax, he turned back to her, a smile plastered on his lips that didn't quite meet his eyes. "Yeah, it's probably a good idea," he agreed, giving her shoulder a small squeeze. "I mean, we aren't getting any younger right?"

"Exactly!" Hermione said a bit too enthusiastically, forcing herself to believe the hesitation she saw within Harry was nothing more than a reluctance to grow up, instead of a reluctance to end what had been happening between them. Shifting from under his arm, she scooted until her back pressed into the arm of the couch, her legs stretched out in front of her so her feet were against his thigh. "I figured you'd be keen on the idea since you were pictured with some witch last week…maybe you want to pursue more?"

Harry paused, his brow furrowing in confusion for half a second before he let out a quick laugh. "Wait, with Kitty?" he questioned, his right brow lifting.

"Uh…what?"

"The redhead?"

"Yeah…"

"Yeah, absolutely not," Harry rushed, his right hand moving to rub at the back of his neck. "That was a poor decision heavily influenced by one too many beers and Seamus."

"Oh come on, she couldn't have been that bad." Hermione tsked, her hands folding loosely across her abdomen. "She looked pleasant."

His hand dropped over his face, smoothing across his cheeks before he gave her a quick and firm shake of his head. "She licked my face, Mione."

"What?!" Hermione blanched, her eyes widening to what felt like the size of saucers.

Harry nodded, grimacing. "She licked my bloody face…my forehead precisely," he said as he made a lazy gesture towards the side of his forehead where his scar was situated. "But that wasn't even the worst of it."

"Uh…What could be worse than licking your face?" Hermione laughed, unable to contain herself.

"She tried to..." Harry began, letting his voice trail off in an unintelligible mumble as he turned his head away from Hermione, his hand running across his chin as he leaned into the opposite arm of the couch.

"Come again, I didn't catch that," Hermione pressed, pushing up on the couch cushion and sitting up, leaning towards the wizard. She couldn't help but wonder how bad it could be. After all, the witch licked his bloody scar!

Harry sighed, his eyes closing, and he took a slow breath, trying to gather himself. "She tried to…you know," he said, cutting open his eyes as he made a swirling motion with his index finger.

"…tried to _what_?"

"You know_?_" Harry repeated, his eyes widening with emphasis as his cheeks began to crimson.

"No, Harry, I clearly don't _know_," Hermione pressed, her head cocking to the side. "What did she do?"

"Putafingerinmybum!" Harry blurted out, his cheeks burning bright red as he averted his gaze to his lap quickly.

Hermione sat silent for a moment, her face falling as she watched Harry practically come undone with silent embarrassment across from her. She knew she shouldn't laugh. Good friends don't laugh, but Merlin, how could she _not_ laugh? Laughter bubbled up her throat, starting out low and slowly morphing into riotous belly laughs that brought tears to the corner of her eyes as she fell back on the couch.

"This is _not funny_ Mione!" Harry practically pouted, his arms crossing his chest.

"You're…You're the Boy-Who-Lived." Hermione wheezed, her finger wiping away the slowly forming tears. "You faced death—twice! And lived. You literally chase dark wizards and criminals for a living! But put a finger in your bum, and suddenly you want to tuck tale and run away."

Harry groaned before he pulled off his glasses, holding them loosely as he pressed his fingers against his eye sockets, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "You know what? Just wait until it happens to you, okay? You won't find it nearly as funny."

"What do you mean wait until?" Hermione scoffed, her laughter still lingering in her chest. "I don't mind a little backdoor play, Harry. It can be quite fun every now and then—when done safely…and with consent, obviously."

Harry's head snapped over to his, his face falling in disbelief as he let out a quick gasp. "_Now_ you tell me!? This would have been useful knowledge three weeks ago," Harry scolded, the smallest hint of a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth.

Hermione snorted, reaching behind her to grab a throw pillow and with a quick swing, she smacked it against his chest playfully. "Seriously Harry?!"

"What?" Harry lifted his arms to defend himself from a second assault. "We could have been having way more fun!"

Life was back to normal.

Or as normal as it could be after shagging your best friend for weeks, and then ending all sexual contact.

The truth was, it wasn't hard for Harry to fall back into the routine of friendship with Hermione, but he would have to admit he did miss the physical aspect of their relationship. It wasn't _just_ that the sex was great—which it was! It was the intimacy. The connection they seemed to share. The same bloody one they were both so intent on ignoring.

"Milk?" Harry questioned over his shoulder as he opened the small refrigerator door, already pulling out a gallon for himself.

"Ehh...Maybe just a pint. You and Ron are the only ones who drink it." Hermione stood behind the buggy, wearing a pair of tight black workout leggings and a loose hooded sweatshirt that hung below her arse. Over the past week they had returned to their former routine. Lunch daily at work, dinner on Wednesdays and grocery shopping on Saturday evening in preparation for the week ahead.

"Speaking of Ron," Harry said, snagging a pint from the shelf, and he let the door swing closed behind him as he moved to set the milk in the basket. "Is he coming over for Wednesday dinner?"

"Yes. Which is why we aren't having curry," Hermione said, not even glancing up from her grocery list, her teeth trapping the top of her tongue as her eyes narrowed on the scrap of paper.

"Wait, really?" Harry groaned, his lips pursing. "But I was looking forward to it!"

"Yes, well you know it upsets his stomach." Hermione sighed, setting her list down on the child's seat before she began to push the cart down the aisle, grabbing some butter and tossing it into the basket as they passed the section. "I'm doing that sausage casserole you both like so much, so don't worry."

Harry let out a small noise in annoyance from the back of his throat as he slid his hands into the front pocket of his denim trousers, ambling behind Hermione down the aisle, his eyes covertly drifting down to her backside. He knew he shouldn't look, but perhaps habits were hard to break. Now that he knew what lay beneath her clothing, he couldn't help it! After all, they said they were done sleeping together, it wasn't like he couldn't still look, right?

"Can we move dinner to your house by the way?" Hermione questioned, turning the buggy up the next aisle, her brown eyes flitting around, examining the boxes of dried goods.

"Uh, yeah I don't see why not. What's up?" Harry questioned as he tossed a box of cheese biscuits into the basket before side-stepping around an elderly lady who was lingering in the middle of the walkway, comparing two boxes of biscuits.

"Well I'm supposed to leave on holiday the next night, and I would rather not dirty my flat." Hermione pulled the buggy to the side of the aisle before standing on her tiptoes, straining to reach for a canister of bread crumbs that sat on the top shelf.

Harry moved up behind her, his body hovering centimeters away as he leaned over, plucking the canister down from the shelf. "Here ya go," he said with a small smile. From this distance the floral aroma of her shampoo and body spray filled his senses, instantly reminding him of how he had woken up wrapped in her scent just weeks prior. Her curls were always a mess, spread out across his pillow, and while she slept he would run his hands over them, admiring her in silent reverie. His heart pulsed as the memory, causing an almost painful ache when he reminded himself that that part of their relationship was over. Hermione wanted more…she wanted a boyfriend, and he was just her friend.

"Thank you." Taking the canister, her fingers brushed his and she moved out from in front of him, the radiating heat of her body leaving his as she resumed pushing their shared shopping cart down the aisle.

Harry stayed still, his hand moving to run through his hair, twisting the unruly locks into small peaks as a twinge of an unfamiliar feeling blossomed in the centre of his chest. Sadness? No, perhaps remorse. Whatever it was, Harry knew now more than ever he was not a fan of whatever it was that was causing this empty feeling inside.

"Where are you going on holiday?" Harry double-stepped to catch up as Hermione began to maneuver towards the produce section of the muggle grocery store.

"Oh, that's right. I didn't tell you," Hermione said, casting a quick glance out of the corner of her eye at him. "I'm actually going to see my mum and dad in Australia for the week."

"Really?" Harry's brows lifted in surprise and his steps faltered. "Wow, when was the last time you saw them?" She rarely spoke of her parents anymore, and Harry quickly learned to stop asking because he knew it was a sensitive subject.

Hermione parked the cart in front of the apple stand and she fished out a knit mesh bag from the basket before she began to pick out her selection. "About…three years I think," She said, her forehead wrinkling in thought. "Give or take a couple months."

Harry moved behind the buggy, taking over pushing it as he followed her around, leaning his elbows on the hard metal. "Blimey, I didn't realise it'd been that long."

Hermione waved her hand dismissively at him as she moved towards the stone fruit section, not even bothering to glance over her shoulder at him as she spoke. "You know how it is. I've been busy…they've been busy," she dismissed, and although Harry couldn't see her eyes, he could hear a hint of melancholy lining her tone. "What are you doing for holiday this year? Going to the beach again?"

He knew the subject change was on purpose, and as much as he wanted to continue the conversation about Hermione's parents and offer her support, he knew that it would likely do no good. Not when she was still clearly so affected by the rift she'd caused in her family. "Yep. Every year," Harry said with a small smile. "This year Kingsley is going to be joining us…so that'll be interesting."

Hermione's head snapped over her shoulder, her eyes alight with curiosity. "Wait…Andromeda is taking the Minister? So things are serious now?"

Harry shrugged, grabbing a small bunch of bananas from the stand as they passed and setting them in the basket. "I have no idea. She just told me he was coming, so maybe? I didn't really interrogate her about it."

"Come on, Harry!" Hermione groaned, reaching out to smack his arm lightly with the back of her hand. "You can _not_ just drop something like that on me without having supporting information."

"You can call her yourself, you know!" Harry defended, dramatically rubbing his arm where she had struck him. "I'm sure she'd love to hear from you."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes rolling skyward. "Right, because _that_ won't be obvious," she mused. "_Hi Andromeda, how have you been? I've been splendid. Hey, I hear you're vacationing with Kingsley, care to talk about it?"_

"I mean…it sounds okay to me."

"Circe, you can be really thick sometimes." Hermione laughed, moving to the side of the basket, and she pulled out her list, comparing the contents of the cart with what she'd written down before she glanced up. "I think I got everything, you?"

Harry nodded, not bothering to double check. Merlin only knew he'd likely forgotten something, and he'd be back here within the next couple days, but that was par for the course with him. After all, he was never one to make lists like her. "Yep."

Hermione led the way to the register and began to unload the groceries. "So will you at least get me the details when you come back?" Hermione glanced up, giving him that puppy dog look he could never resist.

"Of course." Harry sighed, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck. "If you insist."

The cashier cleared her throat, flashing a wide smile at them. "Afternoon, how is your day going?" the elderly clerk greeted.

"Pretty good," Harry replied for both he and Hermione. "And yourself?"

"Can't complain," the clerk said with a wave of her hand. "You know, I've heard this before, but it's so nice to see young couples out shopping together without those mobiles in their face. So often I see couples who barely even look at each other."

Harry let out a small laugh, and for some inexplicable reason the notion of someone thinking he was dating Hermione gave life to butterflies in the pit of his stomach. His hand moved to the back of his neck, fingers rubbing across his hairline as he shot a glance towards Hermione.

"Oh no!" the curly-haired witch rushed to correct the clerk, her eyes widening as she shook her head. "No, he isn't my—he's just my friend. My best friend." Hermione laughed, reaching out to set a hand on Harry's bicep, and she gave him a small squeeze before she moved up to the counter she'd laid their groceries on and with a quick snatch she laid the black plastic divider in the middle of the pile.

And just like that, the butterflies that had been tickling the pit of his stomach vanished just as quickly as they appeared. Harry's eyes focused on the divide between their groceries. Such a simple act—something that should have zero impact upon him, after all, those were _his_ items. But it was almost painful. To think of how quickly she had corrected the clerk. As if the idea of dating him was so…bad.

"I'm sorry," the clerk apologized, her cheeks tinted pink as she glanced between Hermione and himself. "I just assumed."

"It's alright," Harry said, his voice dropping just a bit and he cleared his throat, forcing a smile back on his lips before he pushed the buggy towards the end of the checkout stand, careful to avoid bumping into Hermione who stood before the clerk, preparing to pay for her items.

Harry busied himself with packing her groceries in the paper bags, barely listening to the small talk between Hermione and the clerk, his mind still stuck on her immediate dismissal of the possibility of a romantic relationship between them . It wasn't until he heard Hermione saying his name that he finally looked up.

Hermione was folding her receipt, tucking it into her pocketbook as she approached the end of the checkout stand. "I'll see you for lunch tomorrow?" Hermione questioned, tucking her wallet inside her purse.

"Uh…yeah. Just the canteen?" Harry questioned, turning to face Hermione as he glanced quickly over her shoulder towards the clerk who was in the middle of ringing his food.

"Sounds good," Hermione said with a smile, leaning up on the tip of her toes, and she brushed her lips across his cheek, something she had done countless times, but for some reason the chaste kiss sent a flare of heat through his body. "I'll Floo later."

Harry nodded, his hands curling into fists inside the front pocket of his denims, his blunt nails digging into his palms.

"Okay…Have a nice night, Harry."

"You too, Mione."

Hermione should have known Ron would cancel; the signs were fairly obvious, and in truth, she wasn't particularly upset about it—after all, Ron was allowed to have a life outside their circle of friends, wasn't he? And since he'd started dating the blonde from Gabi's opening, she knew she needed to cut him a bit of slack, as new relationships were never easy to navigate. But his constant last-minute cancelations were rather inconsiderate—especially since she'd literally changed the menu for him.

But, the situation being what it was, Hermione used the extra time not spent in his company to force Harry into helping her pack for Australia.

"You really ought to have Bill come put the cooling charms on your fans," Harry said as he laid out like a starfish on her bed, his shirt long forgotten on her bedroom floor. The Muggle fan she'd purchased whirled noisily on her bedside table, the forced breeze directed over his flushed body.

Hermione glanced at the wizard before she turned her attention back to her closet. "It isn't _that_ bad."

"Says the witch in a pair of running shorts and a bra," Harry mumbled.

"I didn't force you to wear trousers," Hermione retorted quickly. "Besides, I don't own this place. I can't have Bill put the charms up just to have them pulled down in six months when my lease is up."

Harry pushed himself up on his elbows, emerald eyes cutting at her, his black fringe sticking to his sweat-stricken forehead. "No, you literally could…because it's bloody _magic_," he said with an exasperated sigh before falling back on her mattress. Rolling onto his stomach, he slid the latest issue of Quidditch Weekly towards him and opened it back up.

"Oh stop whinging," Hermione scolded, pulling a blouse from her closet as she turned to face Harry, holding it up in front of her body. "What about this one?" she questioned, cocking her head to the side as she looked down at the flouncy purple shirt.

"Looks great." Harry didn't even bother looking up from the magazine, a hand under his chin holding it aloft as he turned to the next page.

Hermione's lips thinned, her brow raised at him in disbelief and she dropped her hand holding the shirt to her side, the hem of it ghosting across her carpet. "What about this one?" She questioned, making no move to hold up another shirt as she narrowed her eyes on him.

"Oh yeah, I like that one too," Harry responded, feigning enthusiasm as he scanned the latest Nimbus ad with mild curiosity.

Bending at the waist, Hermione snatched a discarded hanger from the growing pile and she lobbed it across the room at him. "Harry James Potter!"

"Ow!"

"Put that bloody magazine away and help me!" Hermione tossed the purple blouse on the foot of the bed as she furrowed her brows at him, her arms crossing over her chest.

"Okay, fine," Harry replied, rolling over onto his back, and he sat up, crossing his legs as he rubbed the spot on his side where the hanger had hit. "Merlin, you're really worried about this, aren't you?"

Worried wouldn't be the word she would use to describe the gut-wrenching anxiety she felt over this trip, but perhaps it was a start. "No…" Her voice trailed off, her eyes shifting to the floor before back up to the wizard who was giving her a rather skeptical look with his face pursed before she sighed, tossing her hands in the air. "Yes! Maybe? I'm honestly not sure anymore, okay?" she said with a heavy sigh, turning her back to Harry as she moved over to her dresser and yanked open the drawer, beginning to pull out knickers and socks to pack, hastily dumping them on the top of her furniture.

"Are they still angry?" Harry scooted across the bed until his legs hung over the edge. Reaching out, he picked up the purple blouse she had been holding up earlier and he gingerly removed the hanger before folding the garment and placing it in her to-be-packed pile.

"Sometimes, yes." Hermione chewed nervously on her bottom lip, her hands trembling as she folded some loose socks in her drawer. "Sometimes they forget about everything—like who I am, or that they had lives before moving to Australia. It's touch and go…the mind Healer said it would be like this, but I'd…I'd hoped that maybe they'd be in that small percentage of people who went back to their normal lives."

"Shite Mione…I'm sorry," Harry said, his hands fumbling with another shirt she'd laid on the bed earlier.

"It's okay," Hermione sighed, nudging her drawer closed with her hip before she turned to face him, leaning back on her dresser. "Really, it is. I'm just thankful I've got some pieces of them back, you know? It's better than not having them at all."

Silence fell between them, and she watched as Harry struggled to respond, but the truth was she wasn't looking for sympathy regarding her parents. She had come to terms with the tragic change in their relationship years ago now, and had moved on from her mistake. It wasn't that it didn't still hurt, because of course it bloody did. Every damn day it hurt, but there was little she could do to fix it. She had no choice but to be happy with what little she was given, because it w_as_ better than not having them. At least on speaking terms, she still got to be a part of their lives.

Without a word, Harry leaned forward and stole her hand. He laced their fingers together and gave her a small reassuring squeeze as he let a sympathetic smile tug on the corner of his lips. "Alright, no more magazines," he stated, using his free hand to gesture toward her closet. "Show me every damn outfit if you must, but I can't promise my opinion is worth a damn."

Hermione laughed, her nose wrinkling as her smile widened. "Thank you…and for the record your opinion matters to me."

No Kissing

No One Knows

No Sleepovers

No Cuddling

No Romance

No Expectations

No Asking About The Other Person's Dates

No Jealousy

No Going on Dates with Each Other

No Falling in Love


	11. Chapter 11

"If I'd have known you were inviting us over to talk work, I would have stayed home," Dean huffed before he used his fork to launch a crouton from his salad across the table where Harry and Seamus were huddled over a case file.

Seamus flinched as the salad topping collided with his cheek and he batted the air, as if to block a volley of flying croutons. "Merlin's saggy sack, Dean!" Seamus cursed, his head snapping to look at his boyfriend exasperatedly. "I told you this would only take a bloody minute, love."

"Yeah, you said that _twenty minutes ago!_" Dean's eyes widened and he tapped his wrist watch before crossing his arms over his chest, his brow cocked, daring his boyfriend to argue further.

"Okay, okay!" Harry quickly flipped the file closed, his fingers tucking the stray photographs inside. "I'm sorry, Dean. Truly, I wasn't trying to monopolize the evening with work. Just wanted to make sure Seamus was up to date on the Wichburn case before I left." He was leaving to the cottage on Monday, and had only been able to catch Seamus briefly during the week. Although Seamus wasn't covering for him in an official capacity, his team knew that Seamus was the point person anytime Harry was out of office. It was unofficial, as Kingsley would be hard pressed to approve a low ranking Auror to act as point, but Harry trusted Seamus with his life. The wizard had saved his arse on more than one occasion in the field, and he wasn't going to let something as stupid as job titles dictate where he laid his trust.

"Oh, you're fine Harry. I know you're just trying to make sure everything's covered," Dean waved his hand dismissively at Harry before he stood from the table, picking up his bowl and beginning towards the sink. "Seamus just knows better."

"Did you hear what you just said?" Seamus sighed, tossing his hands in the air. "It was _Harry_ who brought out the file. How can this be solely my fault when he was the literal instigator?"

Dean set his bowl in the sink, the porcelain rattling loudly against the stainless steel basin from the force with which he'd dropped it. Turning around, Dean looked blankly at Seamus, his arms crossing over his chest, and he rested his hands on his elbows. "Because it's never Harry's fault," he replied plainly, as if there was simply no argument that could be made otherwise.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" Seamus groaned, his head tipping back so he looked at the ceiling as he let out a small growl of frustration that seemed to time perfectly with a burst of laughter from Harry.

"Merlin, can you please tell that to the witches in my life?" Harry said as he moved to tuck the file into a small messenger bag he'd prepared for Seamus that contained the most up-to-date information on all of their department's open cases.

"Witches?" Dean's brows rose in surprise as he cocked his head to the side.

Seamus, ever the supportive friend, let out a short, hollow laugh and clapped Harry on the back, jostling him forward a bit from the impact. "Isn't that cute, love? Harry thinks he's got multiple wit—"

The good-natured rib died as the rushing sound of the Floo activating upstairs could be heard, effectively silencing their words.

Harry looked at the staircase, his brow furrowed. He wasn't expecting anyone—Ron was busy with Melody… or was or Mallory? It really didn't matter what her name was, because she likely wasn't sticking around long enough for it to matter anyways. Ginny and Luna were in Bulgaria for the Quidditch match. Neville and Susan at Hogwarts. Which really only left Hermione, and Harry had spoken with her earlier in the evening before Seamus and Dean's arrival. She was calling it an early night as her Portkey was supposed to activate early the next morning to whisk her away to Australia for the next fortnight.

The sound of footsteps thumping on the floor followed shortly after the rushing wind noise of the Floo faded, but instead of someone calling out his name, or even a tentative 'hello', the only noise that drifted down to the basement kitchen was the sound of gut-wrenching sobs.

Harry withdrew his wand from his pocket on instinct as he bounded up his staircase, taking two steps at a time. Whoever turned up on his hearth was in need of help, and based on the way the crying grew louder and more desperate on his approach, there was a distinct possibility he might need the wand. Either for protection, or aid—he didn't know which yet.

He moved quickly down the hallway, his long-legged stride making quick work of the distance, and as he moved into the sitting room, he collided face-first with his best friend, nearly tripping over his feet as he recoiled from their crash.

Hermione was dressed in a tank top and a pair of sweatpants he'd seen a million times before—so worn and tattered, bits of her thigh and knees were visible through holes worn into the soft cotton. Her hair was piled high on her head in a messy bun, barely held together. If he had to guess, she'd thrown it up hastily before Flooing to his house. But her far-too-casual attire aside, it was the tears cascading down her flushed cheeks that made his heart skip a beat in concern.

"Mione, what's wrong?" Harry blurted out, lowering his wand as he moved closer to her, reaching out to lay his hands on her shoulders that were trembling with each body-wracking sob that tore from her throat. "Are you okay?"

Hermione could only shake her head no, her arms curling around herself, her fingers pressing tightly into the skin on her biceps. Was she okay? Of course she wasn't bloody okay! She felt like her heart was disintegrating. She felt like her bloody world was caving in on itself and she was being dragged under with it. Her heart beat so quickly, trying to keep her from succumbing to the bone-crushing anxiety that rippled through her that she could feel her pulse in her fingertips and toes. The throb servied as a bitter reminder that she was in fact awake and this was not some nightmare.

"What happened?" Harry questioned, confused, emerald eyes searching her face for any sign that might convey why she was so distraught.

Hermione's tears seemed to fall quicker at his question, and she lifted her hands to cover her face as if to hide the pain away from his eyes. She shouldn't have come here—not like this. Not so broken and vulnerable, but she didn't know where else to go. She didn't have anyone else would understand. "T-They...they called," she whispered through her fingers, her voice raw and hoarse.

"Who?"

Hermione bit her trembling bottom lip, trying to prevent herself from crying out as a wave of fresh tears began to build in her lower lids. "Th-they called. They said—" Her voice cracked, and she let loose a gut-wrenching sob as she gave in to the overwhelming sorrow that had plagued her since she answered that fateful call. "That they d-don't want me to come."

Harry watched her crumble and with no hesitation he wrapped her in his arms, his hand splayed wide across her back between her shoulder blades as he cradled her to his chest. Behind him he could barely hear approaching footsteps over the sound of Hermione's tears. Craning to look over his shoulder, he caught Seamus' gaze, who was still approaching wand ready.

Seamus seemed to grasp what was going on—or at least enough of what has occurred to know that the witch needed not only comfort, but someone to help calm her down. Harry knew he'd witnessed his fair share of traumatic situations to understand the signs. It was part of their training after all. "Dean," he said over his shoulder as he stowed his wand in his pocket. "Can you fetch a cup of warm water?" When Dean gave a silent nod, Seamus quickly crossed the room and headed down the hall.

Harry guided Hermione towards the couch and gently sat her down before he kneeled before her, his hands running soothingly up and down her arms. "It'll be okay," he whispered, teeth sinking into the inside of his bottom lip. He wasn't sure he could necessarily believe his own words; based on what little information he was able to pull from her he wasn't so sure he wouldn't have had a similar reaction if their circumstances were flipped. "Just breath, Mione."

Seamus moved quickly back into the room. In one hand he held a wet flannel, and the other a small dry hand towel. Harry mouthed a silent thank you as he took the towels from his partner before he reached out and wrapped his fingers around one of her wrists. Slowly Harry pried her hand away from her face. Catching her gaze, he held up the cooled wet flannel, making a silent show of what he wanted to do.

He could sense her hesitation, her embarrassment seeming to grow at the realization they weren't alone, but she lowered her other hand and sat still as Harry gingerly swept the cooled wet cloth along her cheeks to gather her tears.

Hermione leaned into his touch despite herself, the wet cloth a sharp contrast to her heated skin, making her feel as though she were being dipped into the Black Lake. She could feel the tension roll down her neck and across her shoulders, slipping down her body until it disappeared through her toes. Her eyelids grew heavy, and her breath began to slow.

"Shh…I got you," Harry cooed as he stroked her cheeks with the cloth before dropping it to on the coffee table behind him. Withdrawing his wand, he cast a quick sinus pressure charm that immediately erased the inflammation and muck that built within her during the downpour of tears.

Seamus moved to the far side of the couch, and he lowered down onto the cushion, brown eyes dripping with concern as he looked at Harry, unsure of what he should do or say to help.

Hermione reached up and ran the back of her hand underneath her nose, sniffling back the last bits of her tears as her heart slowed to a steady throb that only seemed to highlight the pain she felt. It was then that she heard heavy footsteps approaching and she looked towards the entrance of the sitting room to see Dean enter holding a purple mug that had steam billowing out the top. Tucked under his other arm she could make out the label of what looked to be a bottle of Ogden's Finest.

"Whiskey?" Seamus whispered, his eyes widening. "Seriously, Dean?"

"What?" the wizard defended as he moved over to Hermione, holding out the mug of what looked to be hot water. "Just in case she wants something stronger."

Seamus sighed with a roll of his eyes, his lips pursing to the corner of his mouth and he scooted over to make room for his partner to settle next to him.

Hermione reached out and took the mug, both hands curling around the hot ceramic, and while the burn should have made her pull back, she gave into the searing feeling. The pain rooted her to the moment, making her forget the agony of her battered emotions. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice still cracked and broken as she flashed the tiniest hint of a smile at Dean.

"Of course, love," Dean responded, reaching out to lay a hand on her shoulder comfortingly as he sat down, his dark eyes brimming with concern for her.

Harry pushed up off his knees, and an audible pop of his joints could faintly be heard. He winced as he moved back to sit on the coffee table, rubbing just under his kneecaps at the old Quidditch injuries that never did heal properly. "So what happened?" he questioned, his brow still wrinkled with worry.

Hermione dropped her eyes to the mug in her lap, chewing on the inside of her bottom lip as she watched the steam dance off the hot water's surface, letting herself get lost in the simple beauty of it while she warred with herself over how to best explain the events of the night. She knew Seamus and Dean were both aware of her strained relationship with her parents—hell, she was pretty sure the entire wizarding world knew at this point. Shortly after the war, the story of how she had 'saved' her Muggle parents broke, and while most of the Wizarding world had mixed reactions to the teenage witch Obliviating her parents, her friends supported her through the backlash.

"My parents," she started, her voice trembling as she stared at the mug, refusing to lift her eyes to meet the guys'—afraid that if she did and saw pity reflected back at her, she wouldn't be able to continue. She could deal with a lot of things. Fighting a Dark Lord, healing splinched limbs, her pathetic excuse for a love life, even arseholes like Cormac, but what she could _not_ take was someone feeling sorry for her. After all, she'd made this problem. She alone chose to use the spell on her parents as opposed to asking for help. The fallout from it was her burden to carry.

Clearing her throat, she steadied her cadence before continuing. "My parents called shortly after supper. They don't want me to visit anymore." She scratched her nail along the worn potion's logo on the side of the mug nervously, letting her finger catch over the dips and grooves. "Mum said—she said she isn't ready to…t-to see the person who ruined her life." Large silent tears splashed down her cheeks, betraying her need to stay calm, but she couldn't help it. Not when the words hurt so bloody much.

Reaching up in an attempt to brush the moisture away, she smeared the trail of tears across her reddened cheeks as she took a shaky breath.

"Oh fuck." Seamus sighed, his eyes softening on the witch and he reached out and took the bottle of Ogden's from his boyfriend's lap. Bringing the bottle to his lips, he yanked the cork free with his teeth before spitting it onto the table where it bounced across the wooden surface before spilling to the floor. Taking a quick pull from the bottle, he let out a low hiss as the liquor settled in his gut before he held out the bottle to the witch.

"Seamus!" Harry whispered disapprovingly, his eyes narrowing on the Irish wizard.

"What? If anyone in this room deserves a bloody drink it's her!"

"Circe, Seamus! Now is not—"

"It's okay Harry," Hermione interrupted as she took the bottle from the Irish wizard. Balancing the mug of hot water between her knees, she took a large drag of the Ogden's, her eyes watering as the cinnamon burn of the Fire Whiskey seared its way down her throat, igniting her body in a warm flush as it settled low in her belly.

Harry gave one last hard look to Seamus, who only shrugged with a roll of his eyes as he settled back into the couch, before turning his attention back to Hermione who was breathing through her teeth to alleviate some of the burn of the liquor. "I'm sorry Mione. I… I can't say anything to make this better, I know that—" Harry tried to find the right words to say how bloody sorry he felt, because a part of him would forever feel guilty. He was the catalyst of their traumatic childhood. His mere existence invoked hate and fury in a dark wizard because of some stupid bloody prophecy. One that had defined his life from the moment he took his first breath, and as a result, far too many people lost their lives on his account. "—But… I know what it's like to lose your parents."

Hermione nodded, her bottom lip quivering as her eyes sparkled with fresh tears. She brought the bottle to her lips once more, taking another large sip. The burn seemed to hide the pain, making it actually possible to talk about what had happened. "But my parents are alive, Harry… and they hate me."

"They don't hate you, love," Dean insisted, brown eyes flickering between Seamus and Harry for support. "They're just… different people now is all?"

"Dean's right," Harry chimed in, and he reached out to lay a hand on Hermione's knee to pull her attention to himself. "The Mind Healer said their recovery would take time—years, right? And that mood swings are typical when reversing such an extensive Obliviation."

Hermione could only nod, her fingers curling tighter around the whiskey bottle before she brought it to her lips for another drag. Harry was right, that is exactly what the Healer had said. At the time those words had felt promising, but now? It'd been years since the reversal and nothing had changed. They still treated her with the same hate, distrust and resentment.

"Maybe it was just a bad time for them? One of their swings?" Seamus suggested.

Dean nodded as he reached out to take his boyfriend's hand, slowly threading their fingers together in his lap. "Yeah. Maybe they'll wake up tomorrow and realise what they said and call to apologize."

Hermione let a hollow laugh slip from her lips before she could prevent it. They were kind—Seamus, Dean and Harry, but she knew the truth. Her parents would never change their minds. They would wake up tomorrow feeling just as angry and bitter as they did this morning, except with a weight lifted off their shoulders because they would not have to see her. Hermione shook her head, gently pushing back some of her fallen curls and tucking them behind her ears as she rubbed her lips together before speaking. "That sounds lovely, but it won't happen," she replied plainly before leaning back on the couch, letting her head fall back against the cushion, her eyes lifting towards the ceiling as she cradled the bottle of whiskey against her chest like a child would a security blanket. "They said they can't keep forcing a relationship with me when they don't want one. That they never want to see me. That—that they'd rather have no daughter instead of one like me."

Harry's heart felt like it shattered in two as he watched silent tears roll down Hermione's cheek and drip off her chin to splash against her tank top, the drops darkening the soft blue color as they seeped into the weft of the cotton. Despite their petty argument that kept them apart for weeks, and the strange turn of events that had occurred between them as a result of their casual shagging, Harry would never not care for her. Her sorrow brought an ache so fierce within him that it made him forget for a moment that they were not alone in the room.

Leaning forward Harry pried the whiskey bottle from Hermione's hands, and he set it on the coffee table beside him before scooping her up in his arms, and, cradling her against his chest, he pressed soft kisses along her hairline as his hand stroked softly up and down her spine in comforting swipes that seemed to pull more tears from her. "It's okay," he whispered, her baby curls tickling his lips as he spoke words of sympathy to her. "It'll be okay. I've got you."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dean and Seamus silently move from the end of the couch towards his Floo, as if not wanting to intrude further into what was so obviously a private moment between friends. Harry's fingers curled into Hermione's skin, giving her a tight squeeze as her body began to tremble through her tears as she clung to him.

With the other wizards having vacated the couch, Harry moved from his uncomfortable perch on the coffee table, careful not to jostle the witch in his arms too much as he sank into the cushions. Rearranging his hold, he held her bridal style across his lap, one arm tucked securely around her shoulders as the other looped over her thighs to rest on her hip, his fingers curling around the jutting bone. Instinctually, he began to sway from side to side with her in his arms, rocking her through the tears that splashed against his neck and chest, soaking his tee. "Shhh…I've got you," he whispered, nuzzling his nose against her curls beside her ear. "I've got you…I always will."

By the time Hermione's tears dried, and the initial sting of rejection faded, her body felt too sluggish to even pull herself from Harry's lap. The thump of his heartbeat, coupled with the soothing effect of his fingers stroking through her curls, lulled her to sleep before she could even second guess staying the night.

When she woke the next morning, instead of being alarmed by finding herself not only in Harry's bed, but also wrapped in his embrace, Hermione allowed herself to enjoy the warmth of his body against hers and forget about the pain that still lingered in her heart.

Hermione felt Harry wake just a short few minutes after she did, and the first words out of his mouth after a sleepy greeting where to check on how she was feeling. Making sure she was okay, and not in need of anything. As Hermione laid there, looking at her best friend, whose untidy hair stood at odd angles from sleep, and his cheek still rosy and holding impressions from the pillow, she couldn't help but secretly envy the future witch who would win his heart.

He was selfless—everyone knew the story of his great sacrifice on the night of the Battle of Hogwarts, but not everyone knew the man like she did. The man who would drop everything to take care of his friends, who would literally give you the shirt off his back if you were in need. The man who risked his bloody life to catch dark wizards, even though he was well within his right to stay far away from that line of work.

He was everything she'd ever want in a partner—except, he was her friend, and therefore, unattainable.

The two took their time getting out of bed, forgoing their normal routines and instead choosing to lay side by side, staring at the ceiling as Hermione spoke through her trauma with her parents. By the time mid-morning light splashed across the foot of the bed, and their bellies rumbled for food, the weight of the world felt a great deal lighter on Hermione's shoulders with the knowledge that Harry was by her side to support her during her pain.

Harry pulled her out of bed around ten-thirty with the promise of pancakes and bacon—her favorite breakfast food, which is how Hermione found herself sitting on his kitchen counter, balancing a plate that held her fourth syrup-covered pancake on her lap as she used her fork to punctuate her point to the wizard, who stood beside her munching away on a piece of bacon.

"I can't go with you!" she insisted, her tongue darting out to collect the sticky sweet residue from her lips. "This is _your_ trip with Andromeda and Teddy."

"First off, yes, you can," Harry assured her, peering over the top of his black-framed glasses at her with a look that begged her to contradict him. "You're my guest—hell, let's be honest, you're practically family! Secondly, Kingsley will be there, so it's not like you'd be the third wheel or whatever bullshit you think will happen."

Hermione snorted, rolling her eyes before she dropped them to her plate and cut off a small piece of pancake. "Just what I always wanted. A vacation with my boss' boss' boss," she quipped sarcastically before stuffing the fluffy pancake into her mouth.

"Oh shut it. You love Kings and we both know it. Half the time you two are together I can hardly keep you from discussing books and all that other bullshite." Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Besides, you're already packed for holiday. You have no excuse not to come."

Hermione snorted, rolling her eyes before she set her plate down on the counter and pushed off. Landing on her feet with a soft _thump,_ Hermione tugged down the hem of her tank top before she turned to move her mess to the sink. While Harry wasn't incorrect- she did enjoy Kingsley's company, and her bags were technically packed- it felt wrong to impose on his family vacation. He worked too bloody hard during the year; she doubted very much he'd want her accompanying him on the time he got to spend with his godson.

"And I've already told Teddy you were coming when I phoned Andromeda earlier. Do you really want to break his heart?"

Hermione's eyes went as wide a saucers and she tossed her plate in his sink with a loud clatter before spinning around. "Seriously Harry!?"

Harry was leaning back on his counter casually, his arms crossed over his chest as he fought to keep his smile at bay. "He's an orphan, you know? No mum, or dad. Are you willing to break an orphan's heart, Mione?"

Hermione's mouth gaped as her brows rose, and she let out a loud incredulous laugh. She'd always had a soft spot for Teddy, as had most of their group of friends, so Harry's pushing the orphan issue was truly unneeded, but it was clear he was using all the ammo he had to convince her to come. "That's low, Harry. Even for you."

"Well, did it work?"

Hermione pursed her lips, teeth sinking into the inside her cheek as she released a heavy sigh. "…yes."

"Good!" Harry clapped his hands as he moved off the counter, a wide smile plastered across his face. "Now Floo home and grab your bag and let's go. Andi, Teddy and Kings are already at the house and the Portkey is set to expire in an hour," he said as he gestured to an old rusty can that sat atop his kitchen table.

"You had them set up a Portkey in your house?"

"Of course," Harry said nonchalantly as he picked up his wand from the counter, and with a quick snap of his wrist, the mess from their breakfast began to magically tidy. "Part of the perks of being The-Boy-Who-Lived."

"You're absolutely the worst, you do know that right?" Hermione sighed with a laugh.

"I think it's actually pronounced charming." Harry winked before waving his hand in the direction of the stairs that led to the first floor. "Now hurry up, we don't have all day and I've made a promise to build sandcastles with an adorable little boy that I do not intend on breaking."

Sand.

Hermione had nearly forgotten how much she hated sand.

It stuck to everything, it got into her trainers, and the wind from the ocean literally made it fly about like some evil pest determined to ruin her life.

Each step she took up the sandy dune put more of the dreadful grains into her shoes, and as her nose wrinkled in annoyance, Harry only laughed at her discomfort. "You'll be fine. You can shake them out once you get to the cottage."

"How much further do we have?" Hermione questioned, hoisting her magically lightened duffle bag higher up onto her shoulder as they crested the dune. But before Harry could answer, the image of the quaint little cottage came into view. It was just at the base of the dune they stood on. From the stone chimney, smoke billowed into the sky, giving evidence of inhabitants. Hermione paused at the peak, taking a moment to admire the scene before her. The stoney cottage with its thatch roof had a quaint feel that immediately reminded her of Shell Cottage. Just a short walk from its porch, the shoreline beckoned her with crashing waves that smoothed the sand, making it look far more appealing that the mess she trudged through.

She could see the hint of a summer skirt blowing in the breeze on the far side of the house—Andromeda must have been on the porch, keeping a careful eye on the six-year-old that was in the gated yard on a training broom, racing around the enclosure after a low-flying toy dragon.

Harry didn't reply when he paused beside her, instead looping an arm over her shoulders, his smile widening as he took in the sight of the vacation home he'd visited for the past five years. Hermione could feel a sense of calm overcome him, relaxing the tension in his shoulders, bringing levity to the way he held himself that made her own fears begin to fade.

With a gentle nudge, Hermione encouraged Harry down the hill and she followed close behind, careful to keep her eyes on the ground as to not trip down the side.

They made it to the bottom and were just walking down a small path to the cottage when the young metamorphmagus spotted them. "Uncle!" he shouted into the sky, nearly toppling off his broom in his haste to touch down. Giving up his quest of catching his toy, Teddy abandoned his broom in the middle of the yard as he raced as quickly as his little legs could carry him towards the gate, jade colored eyes positively glowing with excitement.

Harry succumbed to his own enthusiasm and dropped his overnight bag on the sand, and dashed forward to meet his godson. "Teddy!" he crowed as he picked the boy up upon their meeting, tossing him in the air before capturing him in a tight hug. "Did you get bigger? I swear you weigh a stone more than last time!"

"I did!" Teddy's sandy blond curls began to change colour. It was as if someone had dumped a bottle of ink on the top of his head, because soon they were nearly as black as his godfather's, and equally as untidy. "I'm almost to Gran's shoulder now!"

Hermione's smile widened as she watched Harry hold Teddy to his chest in an almost paternal, protective hold that made her heart inexplicably swell. Snatching up Harry's discarded overnight bag, she hoisted it over the shoulder opposite of the one that carried her own and she continued up the path towards the pair.

"Whoa, slow down, Teddy. Pretty soon you'll be passing me up and we can't have that," Harry teased, tickling the boy's ribs before setting him back down and giving his hair a quick affectionate ruffle. He glanced up when Hermione's approach slowed to a crawl, wanting to give them proper room to greet each other, and he flashed her a lopsided grin. "Would you mind helping Hermione with the bags, Teddy? Since you're so big now and all."

Teddy's head snapped over his shoulder towards her, and immediately his cheeks flamed red. His black hair began to shift through a multitude of colours, beginning with violet and finally ending on a subdued brown that looked awfully familiar to the mouse-brown tone his mother had once sported for quite some time.

The young boy moved forward, and he smiled sheepishly up at Hermione as he held out a hand for her bag.

"Oh no, Teddy. It's alright I got them," Hermione insisted.

"Uncle Harry said I have to…I'm a big boy," Teddy insisted, thrusting his upturned palm toward her once more.

Hermione glanced over to Harry, who stood with a hand smothering his smile, watching the pair in obvious amusement. Sighing, she slipped the bags from her shoulders and cast a quick shrinking charm on them so they didn't drag on the floor when Teddy carried them. "Thank you, Teddy. You're quite the gentleman."

"Thanks," Teddy rushed out, his brows lifting as a slow smile spread across his lips, and he turned to excitedly rush up to the house, the bags slapping against his backside as he shouted to Andromeda that Harry and Hermione had _finally_ arrived.

Hermione snorted, laughing as she watched him struggle up the steps, and she turned to look at Harry, a brow cocked in silent question about the young boy's antics, which only caused Harry to tip his head back in laughter.

Harry reached out and hooked his arm around her shoulders, tugging her to his side in a loose embrace as he started up the path, stuffing his other hand into the front pocket of his denim trousers. "Teddy has a crush on you, did I forget to mention that?"

"What?!" Hermione gasped. "He's… he's six! There's no way."

"Yes way," Harry assured her with a bob of his head.

"But I changed his nappies!"

"The heart wants what it wants, Mione."

Hermione groaned, letting out a heavy breath as she leaned into his embrace. "Is that why you invited me? To mortify your godson?"

"Partially," Harry admitted, wincing when Hermione elbowed his side in retaliation. "_But_ I mainly didn't want you to be alone."

Her fingers slipped into his belt loop casually as they moved up to the cottage side by side. His words sank into her soul, doing funny things to those dormant butterflies she had long forgotten about. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as the slow tingle of attraction that she'd fought for so long began to take hold again. Clearing her throat, Hermione glanced up when they reached the stairs that would lead them onto the porch, and she slipped from Harry's embrace. Her skin prickled at the loss of his warmth as she took the small staircase two at a time, and she tried to force those confusing feelings deep down inside her.

After all, they were still just friends. His kindness was nothing she should read into.

No Kissing

No One Knows

No Sleepovers

No Cuddling

No Romance

No Expectations

No Asking about the Other Person's Dates

No Jealousy

No Going on Dates with Each Other

No Falling in Love


	12. Chapter 12

"Wait. What? You've got to be joking." Hermione's hand hovered in the air, the sharp knife perched in her fingers as she looked down the kitchen counter towards Andromeda, who was at the sink preparing the green beans for their dinner.

The middle-aged witch laughed at Hermione's evident shock, her brown curls having slipped from her clip and bouncing along her neck. "Honest. I'd resigned myself to the idea of staying single and raising Teddy by myself," Andi explained. She cast a quick glance to the younger witch, offering a small shrug before returning her attention to the pot of fresh green beans that sat in the sink before her.

"But you're so young… that sounds so lonely." Hermione sighed with a small shake of her head before she resumed rough-chopping the pile of potatoes she had peeled moments earlier.

"I'm far from young, Hermione. I'll be fifty-three in December," Andi said pointedly, smirking down at her hands that worked quickly at snapping off the ends of the beans. "I am well past my prime, and to be quite honest, dating my age is tedious. That's not even taking into account that I am living with a small child. Most wizards my age don't want to start over and raise a child."

"First off, you are not past your prime. You're literally in it. Wizards live well into their two hundreds, so technically speaking you're still rather young," Hermione was quick to correct, using the tip of her knife to punctuate her point. "But if you were so resigned to single life, what happened?"

"Well, Harry, I suppose."

For the second time since the witches had started prepping dinner Andromeda's response had caught her off guard. Hermione set her knife down this time and plucked the dish towel from the counter to dry her damp fingers as she turned to face the witch. "What do you mean?" She had heard from Harry about the Minister and Andromeda's slow romance, but she'd only gotten the story about how the two had reconnected after so many years. She'd always blamed it on Harry not asking the right questions, but clearly the wizard had more involvement than he led her to believe.

"He set up Kingsley and I. Don't get it wrong, I'd known Kingsley since I was a girl, but never once had I thought about him like that—especially since Ted came into my life. But he kept insisting we were perfect for one another, and practically pushed me out of my house when I agreed to the date." Andi laughed, her smile widening with each word she spoke.

"I didn't know that."

"Oh yeah. Harry was very persistent. That's about the same time he started taking Teddy on the weekends so I could go on dates without worrying about making it back before bedtime." Andi lowered her hands to the countertop, her lips pressing together in thought. Hermione watched almost an immediate shift in her demeanor. Underneath her happiness, there was a bittersweet lining that lingered with just a drop of sorrow. "It's not easy, you know?" she said, her voice softening as she looked over to Hermione. "Allowing yourself to find love again… but I think it's what Ted would have wanted. Merlin knows if the roles had been reversed I wouldn't have wanted him single for the rest of his days." Andi began, her hands idly picking through the peas as she spoke. "And I like to think Ted would approve of Kingsley… He's kind, and understanding, and has allowed me to take our relationship at a slow pace without any sort of pressure. And he loves Teddy like his own grandson. Takes him to football games even, because it was Ted's favorite sport. He is more than I could have ever asked for in a partner, and I guess I have Harry to thank for it all…for pushing me to find happiness after the war."

Hermione nodded, her hands folding together at her waist as she looked to the witch with a soft smile. She couldn't begin to imagine how hard it would be to move on from losing the love of one's life. After all, it wasn't like Ted had been sick and she'd been given time to prepare for the loss. No, the cruel hand of fate had taken him from her—just as it stole a son away from the Weasleys and countless other families. "I didn't know Ted well," Hermione began, her tongue darting nervously across her lips. "But I think he would have too."

Andromeda's smile widened, and two tears slipped from the corner of her eyes unbidden. Reaching up she quickly wicked them away with her fingertips, a nervous laugh slipping from her throat. "Oh dear, look at me… No more of this, okay? You can't turn this old witch weepy, Hermione. I forbid it. This is supposed to be a fun holiday."

"Okay, okay," Hermione agreed, lifting her hands in surrender as she fought the urge to cross the room and give Andi a hug in support.

Dabbing her eyes, Andromeda took a deep breath to help strengthen her resolve before she picked up the bowl of prepared green beans from the sink and moved across the tiny kitchen towards the stove. "So what's going on with you and Harry?"

"W-What?!" Hermione croaked. Had Harry told Andromeda too? Merlin, who _hadn't_ he bloody told?!

"Well he hasn't told me much about his love life—private thing, that one is. And I'd assume you're dating too, right?" Andromeda explained, cocking a quizzical brow at Hermione, who was still trying to recover from her momentary panic.

"Ohh…Yeah. Dating." Hermione turned towards the counter and busied herself collecting the chopped potatoes and put them back in the bowl so she didn't have to face the witch with her growing blush. "I'm not sure about Harry, to be honest. I went on a few dates recently and it didn't pan out well."

"Oh? With anyone I know?"

"Uh… maybe. Cormac McLaggen?"

"Sounds familiar…what happened? Not a good fit?"

"Something like that," Hermione chuffed as she withdrew her wand. With a small flourish, a _scourgify_ was set on the countertop, magically removing the mess from her prep work .

"Well you'll find someone," Andromeda said cheerfully. "If I can do it, someone as lovely as you should be able to."

Hermione let her eyes wander up to the large window framing the countertop. Outside in the distance, she could make out Teddy running across the sand, a black and white ball skidding across the ground in front of him, and just on his heels was Harry, his untidy black hair ruffling in the breeze. And as much as she tried to ignore it, the slow burn of attraction bloomed to life low in her belly, except it wasn't purely a physical want. It was everything about him. How he looked after the people in his life. How he loved his godson endlessly, and how utterly devoted to his friends he was. On paper Harry was everything she could ever want in a partner and more—but things were more complicated than that, weren't they?

Harry was supposed to be just her friend.

The rest of the night went off without a hitch. No more tears, or awkward near-revelations. Despite her hesitation about crashing Harry's holiday with his adopted family, Hermione found herself at ease around Kingsley, Andromeda and Teddy. They spent the better portion of the night out on the beach huddled in front of a bonfire, and the adults took turns looking for 'special rocks' with the overly exuberant six-year-old.

By the time the stars began to shine and the moon's glow illuminated the crashing waves, the metamorphmagus had curled up in Harry's arm underneath a plaid throw. Hermione had sent the group back to the cottage to tuck the tired boy in as she extinguished the flames, using the alone time to gather her thoughts that strayed into confusing territory regarding her feelings for her best friend.

By the time she made it back to the cottage, all of the lights were extinguished and it seemed she might be the only person awake. Tiptoeing her way to her room, Hermione made sure to softly shut her door before casting a silencing spell as to not disturb the other inhabitants as she prepared for bed.

Stripping from her dirty beach clothes, she set them in a small pile in the far corner of the room before pulling on a thin blue robe. Her curls were held up in a clip she'd borrowed from Andromeda shortly after dinner, and she was beginning to dig through her toiletries bag when she heard a soft knock on her door.

Before she could answer, the door cracked open and Harry slipped inside. He was in a pair of black pajama bottoms that hung low on his waist and a button down jumper that remained opened, revealing far too much of the toned body beneath.

"What's up?" Hermione questioned, her hands automatically moving to adjust her robe higher across her chest before she tightened the sash around her waist.

Harry smiled, leaning back on the door, his emerald eyes making no attempt to hide his appraisal of her body. "Just checking in on you. Wanted to make sure you made it back okay."

"Oh yeah, I'm fine," Hermione said, waving her hand in front of her dismissively. "I haven't had a chance since we've arrived, but I wanted to thank you, by the way. For inviting me… I know this is your special time with Teddy, so it means a lot for you to include me."

"Oh it's no big deal, Mione."

Hermione gave him a shake of her head as she walked towards the head of her bed, and she leaned over the mattress, beginning to turn down the comforter. "No, it is. You didn't have to—and although I did originally want to stay home, I'm happy I came."

Harry moved to the opposite side of her bed without hesitation and mirrored her actions, carefully removing the extra pillows to the foot of the mattress before he began to fold down the comforter. "I'm happy you came too," he said quietly, stealing a glance across the bed that didn't go unnoticed. "But really, it's not a big deal."

"Just accept my thank you," Hermione teased, pursing her lips at him.

Harry let out a short laugh, his hand moving to the top of his head where he ruffled his hair. "Okay, fine. But if you're so intent on thanking me…" His voice trailed off as his eyes ran down her body once again, making a point to focus on the thin sash around her waist.

"Yeah?" Hermione questioned, not even glancing up from where she was adjusting the trinkets on the nightstand to make room for her wand and bottle of water she'd snagged from the kitchen on her way to bed.

"Well, since you're single again…and I'm single…"

Her head shot up quickly, brows lifted in surprise. "Harry, seriously?" she said with an astonished laugh. They'd agreed it was better if they stopped their physical relationship literally just two weeks ago! Surely he wasn't serious?

"What? Did I pick up the wrong signals?" he questioned, his head cocking to the side, making his lopsided smile appear even more charming than before.

"Signals? There were no signals, Harry," Hermione replied with a confused furrow of her brow.

"You brushed your foot up my legs at dinner."

"By accident!"

"Okay, but you definitely winked at me by the fire!"

"Seriously, I had something in my eye! Do I really seem like the kind of witch who would wink at you to suggest shagging?"

She watched as Harry's eyes lifted to the ceiling in thought, and as if it hit him all at once she watched his face fall blank as his hands dropped to his sides. "Oh…bugger. I'm sorry…I—"

Before he could get too far into his apology, her uncontainable laughter filled the room. She was more thankful now for that silencing charm than she had been moments earlier as she kneeled on her bed, using the metal footboard to hold herself up. "Y-you thought I'd wink?" She managed through her fit of giggles. "Seriously?"

"I didn't know! Merlin, maybe it was a new thing!" Harry's cheeks crimsoned and he smoothed a hand over his face as his embarrassment set in. "Circe, it's not even that funny Hermione."

"Oh no, it is," she snickered.

"You know what? Fine. Sorry for asking. I'm going to go to my bedroom and hex myself now," Harry said, lifting his hands in the air as he began to take steps backwards towards the bedroom door. And just as he was about to turn, Hermione called out.

"Wait. Don't go," she said, biting her bottom lip to temper her laughter as she straightened her spine. Brown eyes roved across his blushing cheeks, down the length of his neck and over the visible expanse of his chest, and as she cocked her head to the side, allowing herself to appreciate the wizard in front of her, the reasons she'd come up with as to why they shouldn't shag now seeming rather unimportant. I mean, it was just shagging after all…they could be adults about it. And maybe her feelings from earlier weren't wrong. Maybe Harry liked her too?

"I mean…once more couldn't hurt, could it?" she suggested as her hands dropped to the sash at her side and nimble fingers made quick work of the loose knot that held the robe closed. Once untied, she allowed the slinky material to slide off her shoulders and pool around her knees, leaving her bared before him.

She watched as Harry immediately stopped moving, and his adam's apple ran the length of his throat as he audibly gulped. His eyes left burning trails across her skin as he looked at her with an almost primal glint in his eyes. Gathering his senses after several heartbeats, Harry moved back to Hermione's bed, and he kneed his way across the mattress until he was just centimeters in front of her. "Just once?"

Hermione shrugged as she reached out to run her hands across his chest, letting her finger slip across the smattering of coarse black hair, allowing herself to revel in the instant feeling of desire that burned to life inside her by the simple touch. "Or twice," she whispered.

Harry shivered at her touch, his hands instinctively going to her waist, and he curled them around her hips as he pulled her towards him until her breasts flattened against his chest. "Greedy witch," Harry responded before leaning in to press his lips against her.

The moment his lips met hers, the embers of desire that she forced herself to forget renewed their flame with a burning vengeance so strong it stole the breath from her lungs in a quick gasp. Her hands moved up his chest, over the thick ropes of muscles that lined his shoulders and into his hair, her nails scratching lightly against his scalp as she stretched her body up as far as it could go against his.

She'd missed this–she'd missed his touch, his kiss, and the way he made her stomach twist into knots at a single caress. She missed Harry so damn much, but Merlin forbid she ever utter this truth into the universe.

Instead, she poured her feelings into their union, using every ounce of pent up feelings for the raven-haired wizard into each sweep of her tongue against his. Every time her fingers carded through his hair was an unspoken sign of devotion; every mewl he pulled from her throat, a declaration of love.

Her body molded to his until there was no distinction of where she ended and he began. She could feel his heartbeat thump wildly against her own, the tempos in synchronization as Harry slowly lowered her to the bed until her head hit the pillow.

Brown curls spilled around her head, spreading across the pristine white pillowcase as she bent her legs at the knee, the movement urging him closer until his hips slotted against hers. She could feel the soft cotton of his pajama bottoms brush against her sex as he pressed close to grind his cock against her core as his right hand trailed down her side, his fingertips gliding across her skin in a featherlight caress.

Hermione whimpered Harry's name in delirious praise as their lips parted and she curled her fingers tightly into his hair when his cock brushed across her clit, the fibers of the pajamas creating an intense friction she was not prepared for.

"Gods," Harry whispered breathlessly, his mouth running down her throat, peppering her scar with kisses. "I missed this…I've missed you." His confession sent a thrill straight to her heart.

"Me too."

Harry's hand left her hip and he pushed down his pajama bottoms quickly. He hadn't had much composure since he initiated their kiss, but this lust-filled confession seemed to eviscerate whatever remaining cool Harry was still clinging to.

She felt him kick down his pajama bottoms before his hand moved to her core. His fingers brushed through her folds, gathering the slick of her essence on his fingers before he pressed against her clit and began tracing slow circles over it.

Hermione spread her legs wider as a moan ripped from her, the throaty noise filling the room as she rocked her hips against his fingers. Her eyes fluttered shut and she clung to Harry, leaning into not only the touch of his hand on her sex, but also his lips that were working their way down her chest towards her breasts.

Just as his mouth wrapped around her nipple, Hermione pulled lightly at his hair, pulling him back from the latch he'd created so she could look into his eyes. "Please…I need you," she begged. The foreplay was nice, but it had been too long. She couldn't take much more, not when she could feel the head of his cock leave a trail of pre-cum along her inner thigh.

Harry's fingers moved from her cunt and he dropped his hand to the mattress beside her head as he leaned in to steal a kiss as his hips lowered towards hers. She could feel his manhood prod at her entrance, coating the head of his cock with her desire before he slowly pushed himself inside her.

Her eyes rolled closed as he filled her up completely, her body stretching to accommodate him with a painful pleasure that made her breath catch in her throat. It did not take long for the pair to find a slow rhythm that was more akin to love-making than simple shagging. Each push and pull from within her made her body sing. Her heart beat in time with his slow pace, driving her ever closer to a fast-approaching release.

Hermione's thighs quivered, straining to stay open and apart as she lost herself in the drudging waves of desire. She felt his hand move from her hip and he hooked his palm underneath her knee and angled her leg up against her chest, causing him to hit deeper than before.

His name left her lips in soft chants, her nails scrambling for purchase on his shoulders, and before she could even prepare for it, she felt the swell of her orgasm burst to life and consume her.

There was no white-hot light, nor screams of ecstasy. There was no mind-numbing frenzy. Instead, the emotions she'd warred with took hold. She gasped his name as she clung to him, the rippling effect of the orgasm dragging over her entire body until she felt pleasure in the tips of her fingers and toes. Every nerve was ablaze; even the single caress of his hand along her thigh sent thrills of pleasure radiating across her skin until all she could feel was bliss.

It did not take long for Harry to lose himself in the moment. With one final push into her body, his manhood filled her completely as he spilled his seed inside her in thick pulses that made her toes curl. She could feel his hot breath wash over the side of her face and neck. She could vaguely make out his words over the sound of her beating heart. They were praises—telling her how beautiful she was. How perfect she was. How much he'd missed this.

Her arms stayed around his shoulders, holding him close well past the point of propriety. Her thighs pressed against his hips, preventing him from leaving her as she secretly relished the weight of his body pressing her down into the mattress. And as they lay there, panting, collecting themselves from an act they both knew they should not have done, Hermione allowed herself to pretend—for the first time, that this was more.

That Harry did want her.

That this was not _just_ shagging.

* * *

Harry wasn't sure when he first noticed his best friend was a girl. Don't get him wrong, even at eleven he knew that Hermione was a girl, but he couldn't remember the first moment he realised she was a _girl_ girl. Someone who smelled nice, and whose hands were soft, and whose smile did funny things to his stomach.

As he lay in bed, watching the morning sunlight dance across Hermione's back, giving her skin a more sun-kissed appearance than before, he couldn't help but ponder the exact moment. It had been ages, or at least it felt that way, but when precisely was it?

It wasn't Yule Ball. Although she looked quite charming in her dress, he had still seen her as nothing more than his best friend. It had to have been later…maybe the next year? Or perhaps on the run.

Reaching out, Harry let the back of his knuckles run across the skin on her shoulder, over a rogue hex scar that marred her skin. He held his breath as he moved the brown curls from her cheek, eyes flickering to watch the sun weave caramel highlights into the soft locks as he moved them back from her face.

A slow smile crept on his lips as he watched her wrinkle her nose in her sleep, burrowing deeper into the comfort of the mattress and his side.

His fingers hovered over her cheek, just enough to gather the warmth from her skin, but not close enough to touch her. He wanted to wake her. To snog her senseless as he pulled her into his arms. He wanted to hear those delicious little gasps she made every time he was deep inside her and more than anything, he just wanted _her_.

The time they had spent fighting was time he would never regain with her, and while he was not admitting his fault in their row, he was more aware than before that he was simply unwilling to let something as stupid as who she was dating come between them ever again.

But even still, as he lay naked in bed beside her, the idea of her being with anyone else sent a flare of jealousy to life within his chest. Biting his bottom lip, Harry dropped his hand to the mattress, his fingers flexing into the blanket as he fought the urge to touch her once more.

This agreement between them wasn't anything more than physical. That was a rule–one she'd made perfectly clear on multiple occasions. And beyond that, she was his best friend. Anything beyond the standard 'best friend' feelings were strictly prohibited.

It wasn't like she was interested in him anyway.

She had dated Cormac. She had suggested they not shag any more. And Harry just went along with it. As the reality that perhaps his own feelings were bordering into murky waters sunk in, Harry knew he needed to leave before she woke. Before he allowed himself to give in to his feelings that weren't reciprocated.

Slipping from beneath the sheets, he tucked the blankets around Hermione slowly, careful to not wake her before he searched for his pajama bottoms. Finding them tucked underneath the bed, Harry quickly shimmied them on before he snatched his cardigan from where it had been tossed across the room the night before.

He gave Hermione one last fleeting glance over his shoulder before he slipped from the room, telling himself it would be easier this way–if not just for his heart, but because he didn't want Teddy to go searching for him in the morning and find him naked in Hermione's bed.

Tiptoeing down the hallway, Harry had almost made it back to his bedroom when the bathroom door swung open and he nearly collided with Andromeda. "Oh shite!" he gasped, stepping back to put some space between their bodies.

"Merlin's pants, Harry! You scared me," the startled witch exclaimed, a hand over her heart as she took quick breaths to slow her accelerated heart rate. She was still in her nightgown, and her robe hung open, the sash dragging on the floor. "What on earth are you doing up this early?"

Harry's hand rose, and his fingers twisted at the hair on the crown of his head as a sheepish smile slipped over his lips. "Sorry. I was...uh...just up," he struggled, his eyes darting down the hallway to Hermione's door before they moved back to the witch nervously. "Couldn't sleep."

Andromeda cocked a single manicured brow, her arms slowly crossing over her chest as she eyed the wizard skeptically. "Right…" she said after a beat, gray eyes leaving him to trail down the hallway to Hermione's door before back to him. "I'm going to start a pot of tea…should I make enough for three?"

"Two," Harry corrected quickly, his cheeks tinting with a soft pink blush. "I uh…I don't think Hermione's up. If that's what you're asking."

Andromeda's skeptical stare slowly morphed into a mild amusement as she turned her attention back to Harry. "Well, you would know. Wouldn't you?"

* * *

_1\. No Kissing_  
_2\. No One Knows_  
_3\. No Sleepovers_  
_4\. No Cuddling_  
_5\. No Romance_  
_6\. No Expectations_  
_7\. No Asking About The Other Person's Dates_  
_8\. No Jealousy_  
_9\. No Going on Dates with Each other_  
10\. No Falling in Love


	13. Chapter 13

The summer sun was just cresting over the ocean's blue waters, painting the sky a beautiful pink and purple that seemed almost too picturesque to be real. The day had been spent soaking up the warm rays while building sandcastles on the beach with Hermione and Teddy. Andi and Kingsley remained at the cottage, preparing their meals and enjoying some quiet moments together when the time allowed.

All in all, it had been about as perfect as Harry could have imagined. There seemed to be no residual awkwardness between himself and Hermione from their encounter the night before, which Harry was more than thankful for. But if he really took a moment to think about it, there simply hadn't been an opportunity to have an _adult_ conversation with Teddy hot on his heels all day.

Harry's mind drifted to thoughts of Hermione now that the day's activities had died down. The witch had disappeared to shower and change into pajamas shortly after dessert, leaving him to snuggle his godson on the couch.

Teddy was spread out across the length of the couch, his little body taking up the majority of the space, sprawled out like a starfish, exhausted from his busy day. His head lay in Harry's lap, where Harry found himself petting the soft jet black hair that still adorned the top of his head.

Smiling down at the boy, Harry's glasses slipped to the end of his nose as he peered down at the boy, noting the way his cheeks were still rosy from their day in the sun. His fingers drifted out of Teddy's hair and he brushed them across the high of his cheek, stifling a laugh when the young boy snuggled into his stomach, as if to evade his touch.

"Would you like a cup, Harry?"

Andi's soft voice called his attention across the room to where she entered, directing a floating tray towards the coffee table. An aged floral teapot sat in the middle, surrounded by mismatched cups and saucers.

"Sure, thanks," Harry responded back in a whisper as he slowly shifted up—careful not to wake Teddy as he reached for the steaming cup Andromeda poured him. Balancing the saucer on the arm of the couch, Harry took a small sip, letting the floral burst of Lavender tea dance across his tongue.

"So, how long have you two been together?" Andromeda settled into a chair across from him. Her patterned skirt gathering around her ankles as she crossed her right leg over her left. She gave him a look reminiscent of his beloved former Head of House—one that told him she knew exactly what was going on, but she did not necessarily disapprove.

"Who? Hermione?" Harry's brow rose in surprise by her forwardness and he gave a quick shake of his head as he lifted the hand that had been resting on Teddy's back. "No, we're not together. Not like that at least–she's just a friend."

"You spent the night in her room though…did you not?" Andromeda pressed, her head cocked to the side, causing some of her auburn curls to frame her jaw.

"Eh…It's not what it looks like."

"So you didn't sleep with her, then?"

Harry's hand rose to ruffle against the hair on the top of his head, fingers twisting small peaks in the untidy black locks as he let a nervous laugh escape him. Perhaps subtlety had never been his strong suit, but Merlin, Andromeda had less tact than he did. "Okay, maybe it is what it looks like."

Andromeda chuckled from behind the rim of her teacup, gray eyes dancing with amusement across the dimly lit room. "I quite like her, you know," she said as she lowered her teacup to her lap. "I know my opinion doesn't mean much, but I do think she's an equal match for you."

"You opinion does matter, but honest, it's not—it's just—" Harry took a deep breath, his brow furrowing as he dropped his eyes to look at the sleeping Teddy in his lap, double checking he was still asleep, because Merlin forbid he caught wind of what Harry was about to divulge. The little parrot would likely let everyone that came into his life know. "Well, it's just shagging," he whispered as he lifted his eyes once more to Andromeda, his cheeks flushing a light crimson.

Andromeda's brow rose to her hairline as she blinked back her evident surprise. Harry watched her adjust her position in the chair, searching for comfort as she processed his admission. Silence fell between them, lingering in the narrow space until Harry wondered if maybe he'd divulged too much, but just as he was about to rush an explanation—any explanation that could provide reason for their unconventional friendship, Andromeda spoke again, her tone quizzical and searching. "So, you're telling me you don't fancy her?"

"I…uh…" Fancy Hermione? Harry wasn't positive what he felt for his friend anymore. He knew he liked to be around her, with or without shagging. She made him happy, and when he wasn't with her, his thoughts often strayed to her. And sure, every now and then he got butterflies low in his belly when they were together, but all of those things happened well before they started 'playing Quidditch'. Surely that didn't mean he fancied her, right? "No? Yes? Blimey, Andi. I'm honestly not sure anymore. It's rather confusing to think about."

"What's so confusing about it Harry? You either like the girl or you don't. From where I'm sitting, it appears as if you do, so why not make it official instead of pretending like it's just physical?"

"Because it's complicated." Harry carded his fingers through his hair, ruining the peaks he'd created in his flustered moments earlier before letting his arm drape across the back of the couch, his fingers picking at the pilled fabric on the top of the cushions. "I'm complicated—she is too!"

Andromeda pursed her lips as she leaned forward to set her teacup on the coffee table, gray eyes piercing him with disbelief that set his stomach tightening in response. His relationship with Andromeda was about as close to having a parent in his life as he could get. Sure, he still spoke with the Weasleys and they were present, but Molly was never one to talk straight with him. She still wore rose-coloured glasses—which, at times, was the farthest thing from helpful.

"Don't give me that look. You should know this by now." Harry sighed. "Dating isn't easy for me. I'm a bloody mess. You've seen my schedule! I hardly have time to clean my flat, let alone date someone. Beyond that, I spent seventeen years of my life being a horcrux. A bloody piece of the most evil wizard's soul. I'm famous because I can't bloody well stay dead—which, I'd like to point out, is now part of my career. I've got a laundry list of emotional baggage that starts with never knowing my parents and ends all the way at commitment issues because of not knowing my parents." These thoughts were not new, but the way in which they related to his best friend were. Since his relationship with Ginny had ended, his romantic history had been plagued by self-doubt. Sure, on the outside it looked like he had his life together, but most days he was eating crisps for dinner at his desk and drinking tea just to keep his eyes open. "Andi, I'm not the man Hermione deserves…I could never be."

"And who are you to say who or what she deserves?"

"I've known her for over half our lives," Harry explained as he lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. "I know what kind of bloke Hermione wants, and I'm telling you—it's not me."

Andromeda nodded with wide eyes, and yet despite her supposed acceptance of his reasoning, it was clear by the look in her eye that she didn't believe him. "Ah…So you've asked her then, have you?"

"What?" Harry scoffed, his nose wrinkling. "No."

"So you've perfected Legilimency? What exciting news for your career," Andi snarked, lifting her hands to give a small polite clap as a small smirk fell on her lips.

"Oh Merlin!" Harry sighed, his hand lifting to pinch the bridge of his nose under his glasses. "Look, Andi. I know this because she's told me what type of man she wants before and I can assure you, it's not me." He adjusted his frames up the bridge of his nose before his hand dropped unceremoniously to the back of the couch. "Besides, _she's_ a bloody messy right now anyways. She's screwed up in the head. This stuff with her parents—it's left her damaged. I'm not sure even a Healer could fix it at this point. She's compulsive, neurotic and has expectations on love that no man could possibly ever fulfill."

Even as the words left him they felt forced, as if he was trying to convince himself that Hermione was beyond repair, because deep down he knew that while yes, she was broken—weren't they all post-war? When they were together, those things didn't matter, or at least maybe the happiness they brought one another seemed to overshadow the after-effects of spending their adolescence fighting for their lives.

When they were together he could forget about his problems. It was almost like a breath of fresh air when she was around him. Like he wasn't famous, or didn't have some grand ideals to live up to. He was allowed to just be himself. Plain old Harry—the boy had become a man who just wanted to live a normal life.

"And yet there you are, the man of her dreams," Andi's voice broke through his reverie and he focused his eyes on the witch, her forehead wrinkling as his brows met. "Blissfully unaware of how she looks at you."

"Andi, it's not like that, I swear," Harry insisted, his hand dropping from the back of the couch to rub softly against Teddy's back when the boy began to roll on the couch, seeking comfort in his sleep. "We're just friends."

Andi tsked as she uncrossed her legs, planting her hands on the arms of her chair and used the furniture to help her stand. "Whatever you say, Harry. Clearly I'm far too old to understand what you kids are doing now-a-days," she said with a wink as she withdrew her wand to direct the tea mess to the kitchen.

Harry watched in silence, his fingers once again returning to pet through Teddy's hair as his mind drifted back towards her implication. Did Hermione like him? Was Andi right? How much had he ignored in favor of keeping up the charade of their situation?

"You got Teddy?" Andi asked as she began out of the room, auburn swaying across her back as she moved towards the hallway.

"Yeah," Harry's eyes dropped down to his lap to look at Teddy, trying to distract himself from the confusing questions that rolled within his mind. "I got him."

* * *

A mess.

Harry thought she was a bloody mess!

Worse, he thought she was fucked up beyond repair. The one person in her bloody life who was supposed to believe in her—who was supposed to be in her corner, no matter what!

The truth was, she knew full well she was a bloody mess, but _he_ wasn't supposed to think that. He was supposed to be her friend.

Harry's words rang in her ears, repeating until they consumed every ounce of happiness inside.

'_She's a bloody messy right now anyways. She's screwed up in the head. This stuff with her parents—it's left her damaged. I'm not sure even a Healer could fix it at this point. She's compulsive, neurotic and has expectations on love that no man could possibly ever fulfill.'_

Tears had already begun to fall by the time she'd made it back to her room without being noticed, and now that they'd started their descent, she felt incapable of stopping them.

She felt betrayed—that much she knew for certain, but to what degree was what she couldn't seem to grasp. Was it because he was supposed to be her closest friend, or because she had begun to realise she wanted more?

Her fingers swiped furiously at her cheeks as she tried her best to calm her wayward emotions as she gathered her belongings from the spare room she'd taken up residence in over the past few days. With her suitcase opened on her bed, she didn't even bother folding her clothing or sorting the dirty from the clean like she would have normally. Instead she tossed everything in as she collected it from around the room, each throw providing a small release from the maelstrom of anger and sorrow that was building inside her soul.

Harry was supposed to be different.

He was _supposed_ to care.

He wasn't supposed to be like all the other men in her life. The men who broke her heart. Men like Cormac or Anthony Goldstein, who had only been interested until they'd got her into their bed and then suddenly she was _'too much'_.

Harry was her best friend. He knew her better than anyone else in the world, and yet he spoke straight to the insecurities that plagued every relationship she'd ever been in. And knowing that he, of all people, believed them felt like a blow to the gut. One she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to recover from.

Which was why she needed to leave. She had to! How could she stay in the same bloody house as someone who thought that about her? She simply couldn't. She wasn't prepared to face Harry knowing he felt that way, or Andromeda knowing Harry confessed his obvious disgust with her to the witch.

Tossing the last of her clothing in the suitcase, Hermione withdrew her wand from her pocket, and she zipped her suitcase closed with a flick of her wrist before she collapsed on the bed. For just a moment she was going to allow herself to cry, to feel the weight of the betrayal and let it consume her, because once she left this cottage she was not going to spend another moment mourning the loss of a potential relationship that had been evidently one-sided.

* * *

"Uncle Harrrry!" Teddy scolded as he wiped furiously at the dollop of cream Harry put on the end of his nose. The tips of his hair changed from inky black to a light blue as his eyes narrowed on his godfather.

Harry licked his finger as he stifled his laughter the best he could, emerald eyes twinkling with amusement as he looked across the table at Andromeda who was watching the antics with fond smile. Today had already gotten off to a great start. Teddy woke him up bright and early—at nearly six am-and the pair took a walk on the beach. They'd added to their collection of seashells that adorned the front porch banister, and picked fresh flowers for both Andi and Hermione while on their little morning stroll.

By the time they made it back to the cottage, Andromeda was wrapping up preparing breakfast, and Kingsley had a fresh pot of tea on the table for the adults.

"That wasn't very kind," Teddy frowned, pouting as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"I'm sorry," Harry said through laughter as he turned his attention back to the boy. "If I promise to not do it again, would you forgive me?"

Teddy lifted a hand, his finger tapping his chin in thought as he lifted his eyes toward the ceiling. "maaaybe…"

"Edward," Andromeda piped up, lifting her brows as her grandson.

"Okay, yes, fine," the boy relented with a big sigh.

"Hermione," Kingsley's baritone cut through the jovial conversation. "Are you leaving?"

Harry's head snapped to look over his shoulder to the entrance to the dining area where Hermione stood with her bag hung over her shoulder. His brow instantly furrowed and he pushed out from the table to stand up.

"Yeah, I just got an owl from work. They need some help drafting the Legislation for the Mermaid Bonding Laws," Hermione said, purposefully avoiding Harry's gaze as she spoke, her hand curling around the strap to her bag that sat against the center of her chest. "I really should have left already, but I wanted to make sure to say thank you for allowing me to come stay for a couple nights."

"Oh, of course, Hermione," Andromeda was the first to reply. Setting down her cup of tea the witch rose and crossed the room to give her a small hug. "You're always welcome—it's such a pleasure having you around."

Harry stood by the edge of the table, watching as Hermione stiffly returned the hug, careful to not linger too long before she slipped from Andromeda's hold with a forced grin. "How are you getting home? I can Apparate you to the nearest—"

"I've got it," Hermione rushed, her eyes drawing down to the floor and she took a quick breath before lifting them to look at Harry. "I connected the Floo this morning to mine. So…no thank you."

"Are you sure? I don't mind," Harry said, taking a step towards her.

"Positive," Hermione said as she mirrored his step back, her lips pursing together as she shook her head. "I'm fine. You stay… have fun." The corner of her lips lifted in a smile that didn't meet her eyes, and she lifted her hand from the strap on her chest, giving a small wave toward Kingsley and Teddy before she looked at Harry one last time.

Their eyes met for a moment and she held his gaze for half a beat before quickly turning from the room, not even bothering so much as give him a hug, or a promise to owl him later—leaving him wondering what the hell had happened between last night and this morning that made her turn so distant and cold.

* * *

_1\. No Kissing_  
_2\. No One Knows_  
_3\. No Sleepovers_  
_4\. No Cuddling_  
_5\. No Romance_  
_6\. No Expectations_  
_7\. No Asking About The Other Person's Dates_  
_8\. No Jealousy_  
_9\. No Going on Dates with Each other_  
10\. No Falling in Love


	14. Chapter 14

Two weeks. It had been two bloody weeks since Hermione abruptly left the cottage on the coast and Harry still had yet to hear from the witch. At first he didn't notice her distinct absence in his life as he had so much work to catch up on, but by the time Wednesday rolled around and he'd not seen or heard from her, he began to worry.

His owls went unanswered—numerous bloody owls. He'd sent what felt like thousands, their contents ranging from a simple 'hello?' to 'lunch is lonely without you.' Sometimes they questioned why she was ignoring him, or requesting any sort of sign that she was indeed alive and well.

The concern he'd felt from her absence began to morph into confusion after being turned away from her office for the third time that week. He knew Goldstein was full of shit; the wizard was clearly lying when he claimed Hermione was ill. Hermione was _never _sick, and even if she had been under the weather, she would have suffered in silence at work because Harry knew the Mermaid exhibit documents had been due to the court that week. His mind swirled with possibilities of what he'd done or said that might have pissed her off, but every time his mind came up empty.

They'd had three great days at the cottage, and one amazing night wrapped together beneath the sheets. Nothing between them had changed, which begged the question, why had she?

The confusion that had plagued him slowly shifted to anger, and finally to fury when Harry found his access to her Floo network blocked that very morning when he'd tried to fire call her. His thoughts no longer lingered on what he had done to earn her ire, but instead were focused on finding her and giving her a piece of his mind.

Nearly two decades worth of friendship weren't something he was willing to part with easily, and truth be told it hurt a little to know she could so easily shut him out.

She was avoiding him.

Willfully, and perhaps even maliciously avoiding him!

Which is why he'd decided that very morning to find her—in person-and ask her to explain herself. He might even demand an apology depending on how the conversation went, because clearly, between the two of them, _she_ was in the wrong.

He dressed for the day in a pair of denim trousers, a plain cotton tee and a thin sweatshirt, opting for casual Muggle attire as he knew her favorite spots within the city were more often than not in her Muggle neighborhood as opposed to the Magical community. With a pocket full of both Galleons and Pounds, he set off to canvas her local haunts in hopes of finding the witch.

His first stop had been her flat. To no surprise, her door remained unanswered and her wards prevented him from using magic to so much as step foot in her flat. He debated sitting and waiting out her return, but without knowing when she'd left, or where she'd gone, he figured he might as well keep pounding the pavement until he found her.

His next stop had been a shabby little second-hand store three blocks from her flat. He could never understand her love for the dingy shop. He'd grown up accustomed hand-me-downs and didn't find the idea of purchasing used product as exciting as she did. Nonetheless, he visited the mothball infested shop and searched the narrow aisles but came up empty handed again.

Morning had slipped into afternoon, and afternoon into early evening by the time he pushed open the door to the Muggle café on her corner, driven to the establishment not with hopes of finding Hermione, but rather to cure the rumble in his stomach. However, the moment the door swung shut behind him and he spotted a familiar set of curls in the far back corner of the room, the idea of ordering a cheese toastie immediately disappeared.

She was here.

She was fucking _here_.

Harry's body went taut with each step he took towards her, his jaw setting as he wove through the maze of tables and chairs. The closer he got, the more his anger and hurt warred within him, the speech he'd planned to recite getting pushed to the recesses of his mind until finally he was standing next to the elusive witch and the practiced words were completely forgotten.

Hermione was sitting with her legs crossed over one another on the seat of the chair, thick curls piled on the top of her head and a worn book held between her hands. Her table was a mess—littered with paper wrappers from muffins, used napkins and a plate that, based on the bits of remaining lettuce and bread crusts, had once held a sandwich.

She looked at peace, consumed by whatever text she'd selected for that dreary Saturday, and Harry didn't know if the fact that she didn't seem at all bothered by their lack of communication made him more enraged or simply hurt.

"Are you avoiding me?" Harry blurted out abruptly, his voice a bit louder than he intended.

Hermione jumped, her hands clutching her book to her chest as she lifted her eyes to look up at him. They were wide in shock, but whether it was due to being found or being startled seemed to be indistinguishable as he looked down at her.

"Merlin, what are you doing here?" she breathed, her brow knitting as she unfolded her legs so her loafered feet touched the floor.

"Trying to bloody talk to you!" Harry snapped, his eyes tracking her movement as she hastily inserted a ribbon into the book and snapped it shut. Her body had turned away from his, purposefully blocking him as she began to pick up the table, avoiding his gaze. "Answer the question, Mione. Are you avoiding me?"

"What on earth are you talking about Harry?" Hermione scoffed as she snatched her wallet from the table and stood up, quickly tucking it into the back pocket of her denim trousers. She then gathered her book, tucking it under her arm securely before she moved to pick up the paper cup of what he could only assume was tea.

"You…You have been!" Harry moved his body, blocking her escape, using his thick frame to trap her between the table, chair and wall.

"Don't be absurd, Harry," Hermione said with a quick roll of her eyes. Her lips thinned, and her grip on her tea tightened as she looked up at him when he mirrored her movements once more, preventing her from leaving the little nook. An exasperated breath pulled from her lungs and she looked up at him with flared nostrils. "Look, I've been busy."

"Too busy to return owls?"

"Yes."

"But not busy enough to block my Floo access."

"Oh Godric." Before Harry could react, Hermione reached out and pushed on his right shoulder with enough force to send him stumbling backward, giving her the opportunity to slip past him and move briskly toward the exit.

"Hey…Hey!" Harry shouted as he moved after her, shouldering past lingering patrons and uttering a hasty apology to an elderly man he cut off on his way to the exit. "Hey, we're not done here Hermione!"

"I don't have time for this, Harry." Hermione didn't bother to look over her shoulder as she spoke, instead pushing open the glass door to the café and moving onto the busy street.

Harry ran after her, dodging an oncoming pram as he caught up and grabbed her arm. Pulling her with him towards the small alley that ran adjacent to the café he tugged her far enough in until they had a bit of privacy from the bustle of the Saturday shoppers. "Gods dammit, Hermione. What the bloody hell is going on with you!?"

"Nothing is going on!" Hermione shouted, attempting to yank her arm free, but his grip only tightened. "I just want to be left alone, okay?! Merlin, can't you just leave me the bloody hell alone?" Her cup slipped from her hands in her struggle, and smacked against the wet cobblestone, sending the hot liquid splashing on the bottom of both of their trousers.

"Fuck!" she snarled, letting out a small growl in frustration as she looked down at her damp trousers before up at Harry once more. "Look, I'm a bloody mess right now and I just want to be alone. I'm fucking damaged, Harry. _Not even a Healer could fix me at this point."_

Harry's eyes widened in recognition as she spat his own words back at him and he instantly let go of her arm. "…fuck," he whispered as he took a step back, his stomach churning wildly. Of course. _Of fucking course_.

"That's right, Harry," Hermione lashed out, brown eyes sparkling with tears that had begun to well up in the corner of her eyes. "Didn't think I heard, did you?"

"Hermione, it's not…it's not like that."

"Isn't it, though?! You bloody said it, not me!"

Harry stumbled back under the weight of her anger until his back pressed into the opposite wall, his hands lifting to card through his hair as he watched her brush away tears that had begun to fall. He'd fucked up. He'd hurt her, and worse–what he said wasn't even something he believed! He had just been trying to deflect, push away the possibility of actually wanting something _more_ with her so that his world didn't shatter when they finally did decide that sleeping together was a bad idea. "I was just—Andi was asking questions about us…and I—I was trying to explain how we what we were doing was just physical—like playing Quid—"

Hermione let out a bitter laugh that silenced his words, drowning them in the churning sea of despair that was steadily forming in his stomach. "That's right. How bloody stupid of me to forget. I'm just some…some fuck toy for you."

"Whoa!" Harry's hand dropped from his head and he lifted them towards her, palms out. "Whoa, Hermione where is this coming from? You know that's not true."

"Where is this coming from!?" Hermione repeated as she dragged her hand across her upper lip to pull the collection moisture away from her lips. "Harry, you've been _using _me!"

"No! No, _no_! I haven't!" Harry shook his head quickly, his eyes widening as her words sliced directly to his heart. He would never! She was his friend. She was his…his bloody world! How could she even think that? "This—This is what we agreed upon! Remember, the contract? It was just shagging, no emotions."

"Gods, I'm so bloody stupid," Hermione laughed, her gaze leaving his to meet the sky as her body swayed, unable to remain still as her emotions took over all conscious thought. "You were supposed to be different than the other guys."

"I am different!" Harry defended, taking half a step towards her. "Hermione, we're friends…I care about you."

"No! No, Harry. You cared because you wanted to shag me. You cared because I was giving you something in return for your friendship. You bloody cared because it benefited you!" Hermione spat, her tears spilling fast down her cheeks than before. Bending down, she snatched the fallen cup from the group, her fingers crumpling it as she began to move away from him. "I thought you were my friend, but I guess I was wrong."

"Hermione." Harry reached out, moving forward to try and prevent her from leaving. He couldn't let her go thinking he felt that way. She was his friend. His best friend! He would do anything in the world for her, and had he known that…that their friendship would end in tatters, he would have never given in to the impulse to sleep with her. He would have never risked losing her over something so bloody stupid.

"No!" she double-stepped away from him, holding out her hand to prevent him from touching her as she shook her head firmly. "Just…just leave me alone, Harry."

"But—"

"Stop!" she shouted, her bottom lip quivering as she inhaled deeply, the rasp in her throat from her tears causing her breath to hitch. "Just leave me the fuck alone, Harry…I can't do this anymore."

Harry sank back against the wall, watching helplessly as she fled from the alley and into the throng of people who moved up and down the sidewalk, and for several minutes he stood dumbfounded, his mind swirling to comprehend what had just occurred and how he could possibly fix what had broken between them, but every possibility he came up with ended the same.

He'd lost her.

He'd lost his best friend.

The one person in the entire world who stood by him, no matter what. The one who risked her life to keep him alive when they were kids, despite the very real possibility of dying. The one who'd begged to go with him when he went to face Voldemort.

He'd fucked up, and the truth was, he wasn't sure how, or if he was ever going to be able to repair the damage between them, and it scared him to death knowing he might have lost the most important person in his life.

"Uncle Harry?"

"Yeah?" Harry rolled his head to the side to look at his godson, the mound of blankets they'd stolen from the guest rooms cushioning their bodies against the hardwood floor in his sitting room.

After his run-in with Hermione, Harry wasn't feeling up to doing much. He was supposed to meet Seamus and Dean for drinks, but even the prospect of drowning his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle sounded exhausting. No, after their row, and his subsequent self-loathing, Harry only wanted one thing in the entire world. His godson.

Teddy was a happy distraction from his thoughts, and he knew that during the boy's waking hours he simply wouldn't be allowed to wallow in self-pity over his major fuck up. So with that in mind, he had picked up the boy from Andromeda and promptly stopped at the ice cream parlor, owling Seamus and Dean once he and Teddy returned to Grimmauld Place to let them know his plans had changed.

"Is Hermione upset?" Teddy questioned as he rolled onto his stomach, his legs kicking in the air as he propped his chin on his upturned palms.

"What? Why would you ask that?" Moving his hands from his stomach to the carpet, Harry propped himself up on his elbows before rolling on his side to face the boy.

"Well Gran told Kingsley she left early because…" His little face pinched, violet eyes rolling towards the ceiling in thought. "…because you _buggered things up_."

"Oh…" Harry winced, eyes dropping to the mass of blankets beneath them, and he lifted a hand to brush through his untidy hair. "Gran might not be wrong on this one. Hermione is upset and might not come around for a bit."

"Oh…that's sad," Teddy said with a small frown. "I like Hermione."

"I know you do," Harry replied with a small, wistful laugh. "Sorry bud."

"You know," Teddy began as he sat up on his knees, facing his godfather with an air of authority as he crossed his arms over his chest. "We are her friends."

"Yes, I do know that."

"And as her friends, it's our job to help make her happy," Teddy said matter-of-factly, black hair shifting into a honey brown mop of curls as he spoke. "Sometimes, when I'm upset, Gran will come give me a hug and bring me a cuppa and it makes me feel better. Maybe you should try to give Hermione a hug and see if it helps her."

Harry's face split into a wide smile as he looked up to his thoughtful godson. Merlin, how he wished it could be that simple. A hug and an apology could have fixed any problems that arose between them over a decade ago, but now? Now life was different. It was messy and made even more complicated by the fact that they'd pushed their relationship past the post of friendly and into dangerously murky waters.

"I think that's a great idea, Teddy. But I'm sorry to say I don't think a hug will fix it this time," Harry said with a soft smile as he reached up to run his fingers across the boy's curly brown hair. "Thank you for thinking of that though. You're quite smart."

"I know, Gran tells me all the time I am," Teddy replied with a toothy grin, violet eyes dancing under the praise. "But, I still think you should try because Hermione's nice."

Harry nodded, lowering himself back down to lay on the blankets, his hands folding over the flat of his stomach. "Yeah…yeah, she is."

As he lay there, his mind began to drift to the witch in question. Their fight replayed in his mind for what felt like the umpteenth time since this afternoon. And just like before, his stomach began to churn as the images of her tears and the pain that was so vivid on her face returned. Knowing he was the cause only seemed to make it all the worse.

What he wouldn't do to take it all away. To make everything right between them. He'd bloody figure out a way to rearrange the stars in the sky if it meant fixing this, because Hermione meant so much to him. Every happy memory he had involved her. Every time he received good news, she was the first person he wanted to tell. Every time he was sad, he turned to her for comfort. She was more than just his friend.

She was the love of his life.

And just as quickly as the thought floated through his head, his heart froze as the recognition set in.

She wasn't just his best friend.

She was more.

He loved her.

He loved Hermione.

And not just because it was convenient—because it was _far_ from that at this point. He loved everything about her. The way she pushed him to be a better person. The way she brought him up instead of holding him down. The way she supported his crazy ideas, and helped him work through his problems. He even loved the way she would nag at him, reminding him to clean his bloody flat, or change his sheets on a regular basis.

He loved her. Every last thing about her.

"Fuck," Harry whispered, pushing up quickly off the floor, his head swirling with recognition as the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach grew larger. "Oh, shite."

"Potty mouth words!" Teddy giggled, pointing at his godfather as he bounced. "That's two! You owe me two sickles!"

Harry looked over to the boy who was holding out his hand expectantly, and he shook his head. "Right, sorry! Uh, just a second Teddy." Pushing up off the floor, Harry crossed the sitting room quickly and snagged some of the loose coins from the dish he left on his entry table, and he tossed them onto the blanket for his godson. "Teddy, you just...uh, you stay there alright? I need to make a fire call."

Teddy didn't even glance up as he scrambled to collect the coins, stuffing them into his pocket as he nodded his head.

Harry moved from the room, his tongue dragging across his lips as he took the stairs two at a time towards his library. He needed to find that book, the one Hermione always looked at when she came over, but more importantly, he had several phone calls to make. If this was going to work—if he was going to fix this, he was going to need all the bloody help he could get!

"Thank you both, again," Harry rushed out as he walked backwards out of the sitting room, a small, leather-bound book in one hand while the other held his coat.

"Don't mention it," Dean assured him, smiling from where he sat on the couch with his arm around Teddy. "We don't mind at all."

"Speak for yourself," Seamus scoffed. His arms were crossed over his chest as he stood beside the fireplace, eyeing Harry skeptically. "You have until eleven."

"Take as much time as you need," Dean corrected with a roll of his eyes.

"I expect a nice bottle of wine," Seamus added.

"No repayment is necessary…of any kind."

"And a raise! Because you are aware that babysitting is not on my duty statement, Harry."

"Seamus!"

Seamus let out a dramatic sigh, the back of his hand hitting his forehead as he leaned back against the mantle. "Okay, fine. Just make sure you don't come back with nothing to show, got it?"

"That's the plan." Harry laughed, emerald eyes flickering between the couple before he looked Teddy who was contently flipping through a picture book Dean had brought over with him. "You be good and listen to Uncle Seamus and Dean, okay Teddy?"

"I know." Teddy looked up with a little roll of his eyes, tucking the book against his chest. "But remember….you have to give Hermione a hug or she won't be happy."

"A hug? Harry needs to give her a lot more than—" Seamus began, but when Dean shot him a hard look he pressed his lips together, his hands lifting in mock surroundings.

"Ha! Okay. I'll remember," Harry agreed, winking at the boy before he turned and headed from the room. He slipped into his coat as he moved down the hallway towards his front door, the small leather-bound book feeling heavy in his hands despite its tiny size. He didn't know if this would work, and honestly he felt slightly foolish for thinking up this plan, but he had to try.

Checking his bookmarked passage one last time, making sure he'd selected the right page before stuffing the book in his pocket, he headed out into Muggle London.

Hermione didn't want to go home.

Not when everything in her flat reminded her of him.

It was hard enough getting over the gut-wrenching betrayal, but to have to face the loss of her friendship in the one place that was supposed to be a safe spot for her felt like a slap in the face.

Nearly every picture that lined her shelves had him beside her. Every knick-knack was from a memory of them together. Harry had been a part of her life for so long now, she wondered if she would ever be free from this feeling-this emptiness that lingered in the very center of her chest.

Instead of going home, Hermione had found herself wandering Diagon Alley, wasting the hours until daylight faded, and by the time her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she'd missed dinner, the enticing smells drifting from the Leaky Cauldron called her to snag a spot at the bar.

She ordered a simple meal of chicken pot pie and a pint, and settled into the low-backed barstool. Pulling her well worn paperback of Pride and Prejudice from her messenger bag, she allowed herself to get lost in the beautiful world Jane Austen created-allowing herself to forget her problems. Even if just for a moment.

She was halfway through her meal, picking at the flakey crust around the white-rimmed dish when a loud commotion at the far end of the bar pulled her attention up from her book.

"Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter what on earth do you think you're doing?!"

Harry had managed to pull himself up on the top of the bar, standing on the well-worn wood as he fumbled through a leatherbound book she instantly recognized. In his other hand a small bouquet of wildflowers dangled, drooping from his fingertips, threatening to fall into patrons' plates and pints.

"No…" Hermione whispered, her face paling.

"She walks in beauty, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright-" Harry began reciting a poem aloud. The same poem she'd read thousands of times before in the old text in his library. It was far from her favorite, but it's meaning wasn't lost. As he spoke, his voice ringing out over the growing noise of the frustrated customers, he began to walk down the bar towards her. "Meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellowed to that tender light. Which heaven to gaudy day denies."

Hermione's entire body froze, eyes widening as she watched him move ever-closer to her, his boots toppling over pints of ale and Butterbeer, spilling the contents over angry patrons and across the bar. Her heart came to a stop when their eyes connected, and for a moment she forgot how to bloody breathe.

"One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace. Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place." As he spoke the lines, it didn't feel as though he was merely reciting a poem, but rather reading them directly to her heart. This was not just some stupid attempt for him to get back in her good graces. No, this was a grand gesture. This was what she wanted-or rather what she'd mentioned wanting to him before. Had she known then that it would involve a mortifying amount of embarrassment, she might have reconsidered.

"Mr. Potter! I will not ask again!" Tom shouted, his face turning purple in his anger as he fumbled to pick up spill after spill behind Harry. "Get _down!"_

Harry gave Tom one last fleeting glance, giving a sympathetic smile before his eyes dropped back to the book in his hand. "And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent," he said slowly, carefully stepping over a plate of shepherd's pie and avoiding toppling over another drink as he moved to an opening not far from where Hermione sat. With a less than graceful dismount from the bartop, Harry moved toward her. As he drew close, she could note a distinct tremble in his hands that gave away his nervousness. "The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent."

Hermione slipped down from the barstool, leaving her coat and purse hanging on the side as she moved to meet Harry halfway, closing the distance between them before she glanced around at the crowded bar whose sole focus was the two of them. "Merlin, have you gone mad, Harry?"

"Possibly," he said plainly before thrusting the wildflower bouquet towards her. Emerald eyes brimmed with hope as he closed the book, and tucked it into his front trouser pocket. "Look, Hermione. I'm sorry. I messed up-bad. I know I did, but I just want my best friend back."

Her hands wrapped around the uneven stems and she took the bouquet from the wizard. Lifting the petals to her nose, she took a slow inhale, letting the floral aroma envelope her senses before she glanced up to him over the edge of the flowers. "I...I don't know, Harry. You really hurt me."

"I know I did, and I'm sorry-Circe, I'm so bloody sorry." Harry lifted his hand to ruffle the top of his head, his eyes dropping to the floor as he let a heavy breath push from his lungs. "Look, I can live without ever having sex with you again if that's what it takes-it would be really bloody hard, but I could do it."

Her hand moved from the flowers to touch her lips trying to stifle the laugh that bubbled up from inside as she watched Harry try to gather his thoughts, his fingers twisting his hair like he always did when he was nervous, his body swaying from his left to right foot, as if unable to just stay still through his speech.

"Don't laugh, it's true," Harry rushed, his cheeks tinting pink. "Hermione, I'm serious. I'd give it all up if it meant I got my best friend back...because…because-" His words trailed off as his hand moved to smother over his face, his lungs inflating with a deep breath in a clear attempt to gather his courage. "Because I think I'm in love with her," he said after his hand dropped to his side, emerald eyes boring into her soul as he spoke the words she had longed to hear.

Her lips parted and she felt her breath hitch in her throat, preventing her from taking in any more air as she watched Harry with wide eyes. She knew this was going somewhere, but...love. _Love?_ That was a four letter word she did not see coming.

"No, I know I am," Harry said with an awakened certainty. "Hermione, you're my person-or whatever that bloody nonsense those movies you love so much call it. I wake up, and the first thing I think about is you. You're the first person I tell anything important to. And now that I've thought about it, it was so bloody obvious all along. I never had luck dating because none of those other women were you. I always found faults because I already knew I found my person...You've always been there, and maybe I didn't notice before, or maybe I just took you for granted but I won't make that bloody mistake ever again. I want you by my side at those gods-awful events, but not as my friend...as my girlfriend. I don't want to just play Quidditch anymore, I want the whole package. I want you because...because I love you."

Love.

Harry said he loved her.

Not just that friendship type of love. Not the _she's like my sister_ type of love.

The four-letter-word, all-consuming, be together until the end of time kind of love.

The kind of love she thought she'd never find, but he was right. It'd been there the whole time, cleverly disguised as a friendship.

The flowers slipped from her fingertips as the gravity of what he'd just professed to her in an entire pub full of people sank in. _Harry loved her!_ Without any hesitation she closed the space between them quickly, her arms locking around his neck as she rose up on the tips of her toes to press her lips into his in a searing kiss.

Years of emotions poured from the very centre of her soul as she clung to him, their lips gliding against one another with an ease that felt so bloody right it was simply impossible to ignore. She felt his hands curl around her waist, pulling her body tight against his until she could feel his heartbeat tattoo against her skin. The combination of his touch, his kiss and his words that repeated in her mind made her body come to life. Parts of her quivered and pulsed with a desire so deep she wasn't even aware it was possible to feel so bloody in love with someone.

The crowd around them cheered, clapping and hollering as Harry swept his tongue into her mouth, and the cacophony of sound overtook the rushing sound of her blood in her ears, reminding her that they were not alone. Her fingers brushed through the side of his hair as she broke the kiss with a gentle nip on his bottom lip.

Harry stood breathless, his forehead pressing into hers as a slow smile spread across his lips. His eyes remained closed, and the pink blush that had swept on the apples of his cheeks was now a deep crimson. Cracking open one eye, Harry shyly smiled at her, his fingertips slipping beneath the hem of her shirt to brush across the skin on her hips. "Does this mean you feel the same?"

"Do you even need to ask?" Hermione breathed.

"I want to hear you say it."

"I love you too...now shut up and take me home, you idiot." Hermione laughed, her nose wrinkling as her smile spread to match his as she took a step back from his arms, moving to collect her things so they could get out of this pub and spend the rest of the evening making up properly in the privacy of her flat.

No Kissing

No One Knows

No Sleepovers

No Cuddling

No Romance

No Expectations

No Asking About The Other Person's Dates

No Jealousy

No Going on Dates with Each Other

No Falling in Love


End file.
